


It’s Always Sunny In Trifas: A Trent and Xan Production

by Xan Author of the Nightmare (xanothos)



Series: Trent and Xan's Excellent Adventure [1]
Category: Fate/Apocrypha
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2020-10-27 16:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 52,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20763389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanothos/pseuds/Xan%20Author%20of%20the%20Nightmare
Summary: Trifas, an idyllic Transylvanian town, perfect for a small retreat from the hustle and bustle of the city, and now host of the Grand Grail War. Amidst the usual furor and insanity, a pair of wild cards have been pulled and set the usual course askew. Of course, they don't know how things will end, and their only solace is that it's always sunny in Trifas.





	1. Chapter 1. The Gang Gets Together

Chapter 1. The Gang Gets Together

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it wasn’t actually, but Yohanan Maveth Byzantium pretended otherwise. A tempestuous eve would’ve set the mood more nicely than the balmy afternoon that it _ actually _ was.

He leaned back in his chair then pushed off it, brushing motes of dust from his brown suit-jacket as he rose and crossed the dark room with long, gliding steps.

_ ‘Bah, no matter. Though night has yet to fall, this will do. Wait any longer and the slot I desire might be snatched up!’ _

The pale man glanced at the crimson sigil etched into the back of his right hand, the Command Seal that signified his right to participate in the Grand Holy Grail War instigated by that pompous snake, Darnic.

Yohanan ran a hand through his white hair. Serpent though the man may have been, the Yggdmillennia patriarch’s machinations had opened the way for a most fortuitous opportunity.

Yohanan turned on his heel and beckoned with one hand, whorls of light briefly flickering along his arm as his Magic Circuits called to one of his familiars. 

And the being obeyed its master’s instruction, taking haunting form from the ectoplasm that followed in his wake no matter where he went. Waxy, translucent limbs sprouted from a torso no wider than a human spine, while a visage not unlike a half-melted skull scanned the room with an eyeless gaze. Its thin, clawlike fingers groped around until they found purchase on seemingly thin air, but this impression was quickly disproven.

With a sound like flan being torn apart by a particularly vindictive badger, Yohanan’s Mystic Code, the _ Sefer Dim'dumiym _ , fell into the familiar’s outstretched fingers. Quick as a whip, the Ectothrall presented Yohanan with his _ magnum opus _: a massive grimoire whose very pages were linked to his own Magic Crest.

With a flourish, the pale Magus snapped the book open and strode to one corner of the room, notably barren. With another gesture, razor-thin blades of ectoplasm carved a magic circle _just_ _so _into the stone floor. The ectoplasm then settled into a liquid form, sinking into the cracks of the summoning circle as Yohanan looked on in satisfaction.

After taking a moment to cackle maniacally (mentally, of course; he had _ standards, _ after all), he turned the pages of his grimoire to a particular spot near the center. This page was a new addition, and one he’d taken great pains to acquire. On it was an aria; _ the _ aria. The poem that would summon the Servant he sought, in precisely the class he desired. With this, his victory in the Grand Holy Grail War would be assured!

Or so it would have been. As he stepped forward to begin the ritual, his foot touched down on a small drop of ectoplasm that had splashed out of the circle. His boot-clad feet shot from beneath him, his head collided with the corner of a table, and he knew no more.

-x-x-x-

The first thing Johan noticed upon waking up was that he was no longer in his room. Indeed, he didn’t recognize where he was at all. The second thing he noticed was the throbbing pain in the side of his head. He touched his temple, and hissed. _ That _ was gonna bruise.

The third thing he noticed was his hands. Or rather, that his hands were _ not _ his hands. They were several shades too pale, the fingernails were entirely too well kempt and there wasn’t a single hair on either of these hands.

Oh, and the unnaturally bright sigil etched into the back of his right hand was also a glaring sign of unfamiliar things. A crimson circle surrounded a spadelike shape that hinted at a mask, though one divided down the middle, with one half calling a tragedy mask to mind, and the other corresponding to comedy.

Johan clutched his head, his breathing growing shallow and his heart thudding in his chest. _ ‘What the hell is going on?!’ _

-x-x-x-x-x-

Trent Blackmore, as he had often found himself in life, had once again found himself holding the bag for someone else. Or rather, staring at a glowing circle on a hotel room floor, replete with arcane symbols and what was clearly a glassy-eyed prostitute off to one side.

He stared at the circle, his head pulsing from the lightshow even as he forced his eyes down to his hands, where a glowing tattoo stood out against the back of his hand; the visage of a crying Virgin Mary in red. His gaze tracked back up to the prostitute, his heart sinking with every second.

The circle pulsed and the light grew to be blinding, causing the blond to cover his eyes and squint against the light. There was a strange sound, like the fabric of something shifting across metal, and the light died away, a new figure standing in the center of the circle.

She stood tall and regal, her silvery hair cascading down around her neck in silky curls while her yellow, hawk-like eyes bored into her summoner. She wore a great red overcoat that came with a high collar of old nobility, all decorated with bone inlay or a form of bone armour over it, and beneath that she wore little more than some skimpy black nightwear, a pair of oddly opaque fishnet stockings, and a pair of golden stiletto heels. When she spoke, it was a velvety, aristocratic contralto that caressed the ears of those who listened. “Assassin of Black, has been summoned. I suppose then, that you are my master.”

Trent blinked, a small, wry smile on his face as he pieced together just how truly, _ truly _ fucked he was. His lips twitched, but he held the smile, as he knew if he let it fall then he’d burst into tears. After a beat, he nodded. “Right, well, I’m Trent Blackmore, glad to make your acquaintance.”

“You’re rather calm, aren’t you?” Her gaze was cold and judging, though her tone was simply chilly. “And that one? What are we to do with her?” Her remark was joined with a gesture to the empty-eyed hooker, who had yet to shake herself from her stupor.

The blond shrugged and replied, “Well, if you want to play with her, you can.” The Canadian recognized the woman well enough after a few moments, placing her as the sociopathic master of Jack the Ripper. “The woman herself is something of a terrible person, and if she were to go on from here, then she’d probably ruin a fair few lives.”

“My, to think my master would be so well prepared for me, how…exquisite.” She stalked towards Reika Rikudou, her talon-esque fingernails grazing the whore’s lovely features just enough to draw blood. The dominatrix let out a throaty chuckle as she gently tilted the hypnotized woman’s head, taking in every detail.

The Canuck shook his head as he went to exit the room, but called over his shoulder. “Do make sure to take care of her in the bathroom, there’s a drain in there and I’d rather _ not _ have to explain an ass tonne of blood to hotel staff.”

Without waiting to listen for her reply, Trent had all but run into the main room, his eyes darting for whatever luggage there was. Quickly locating a suitcase that looked to be his he began digging through it, finding a good number of bird feathers, an empty but ornate bird cage, and a scattering of notes. Scanning through them, he found that he was apparently still Trent Blackmore, but not because he’d chosen it. He was a member of the Blackmore Magus Family, and was working with the Yggdemillenia family in order to win the Grand Holy Grail War.

Trent looked up to the ceiling and swallowed the scream that he desperately desired to unleash, knowing that the entire thing would likely be a gong-show. The worst part was that he’d actually have to try and be smart, as his Servant was nowhere near the tier necessary to fight on the level of Karna and Siegfried.

He let his shoulders slump as he pulled the notes back up. He might as well try and figure out how to do something with magecraft, rather than be useless the entire time.

The real issue was that he had to figure out what to do with all these fucking feathers, and why there was a bloody empty birdcage.

With a small flick of his wrist, he flipped the cage around to read the words inscribed on its base. His nose wrinkled in curiosity as he murmured, “‘Quoth the raven’, is it?”

Putting it down, he went back to his reading, trying to puzzle things out in the magic arena. It’d be useful in the long run, if he wasn’t able to get back to his world.

Eventually, he was pulled from his reading by Carmilla emerging from the bathroom, the prostitute’s clothes held in one hand. She looked at him, an elegant eyebrow raised in quiet befuddlement though she didn’t ask. Instead she held up the pile of clothing and inquired, “Just what should I do with these? My meal has no use for them any longer, and I doubt you’d want them.”

“Why not wear them?” the blond suggested tiredly, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Amber eyes stared back at him, their owner clearly unimpressed even as she looked about ready to throw the clothes in his face. Before she could, he raised a finger. “I’m perfectly happy to have you out in material form…but you can’t stand out _ too _ much. You’re already an incredibly beautiful woman, but if you’re walking around in your normal wear, you’d attract too much attention.”

“Fine then,” she huffed, relenting and stepping back into the bathroom. Trent smiled at this development, glad that at least he’d not have to deal with too much horseshit as they left the hotel. He felt his smile stiffen when Carmilla returned, clad in Reika’s clothes.

Her torso was wrapped in green tube dress, her bosom straining against the zipper at the top while the material clung her hips and behind like a mountain-climber clings to the rock-face. The boots had been eschewed in favour of her own stockings and stilettos, and she wore the coat off her shoulder, leaving it to be held up by her forearms. The Heroic Spirit took in his look with a confident nod, and declared, “These will do, for now.”

“Let’s…let’s just go.” As he said that, Trent gathered his things and prepared to leave while Carmilla picked up Reika’s now ownerless purse.

The two made their way down to the lobby in relative silence, a stoic air between them as they went. Carmilla stood off to the side as the Canadian settled the bill, taking in the world that had moved on without her as she did so.

When Blackmore had finished paying and turned to leave, with Carmilla following after him. As they walked out the doors, one of the staff remarked to another, too quietly for the Canadian to hear, but loud enough for the vampiress.

“Wasn’t that a different whore than he walked in with yesterday?”

-x-x-x-x-x-

Coming down from his panic attack took a great deal of time (the length of which was only exacerbated by the _ fucking ghost _ that had popped out of nowhere and started floating around him), but eventually Johan managed it. He staggered to his feet, clutching his still aching head as he leaned on a table, and briefly took note of the small spot of blood on one corner. 

It seemed likely that the person whose body he was now inhabiting had hit their head on the corner of the table. Just _ how _ that translated into him now being in control of the unfamiliar body was completely beyond him, but the exact mechanics of his situation were unimportant.

What really mattered was the sinking suspicion that he’d developed upon seeing the sigil on the back of his hand, and upon scooping up a thick book that had sat on the floor near where he’d woken up, his suspicions only grew.

Written in a language he didn’t recognize and yet could somehow read as though he was born it, were a series of lines. Lines he recognized.

Lines of a spell, meant for calling forth the spirit of an age-old Hero or Villain into the vessel of a Servant.

He couldn’t believe it. No, it would be more accurate to say that he didn’t want to accept it. As he threw down the book and sprinted out of the dark room, Johan stifled a scream.

He continued his run down a long stone hall dimly lit by torches as his mind raced.

_ ‘This can’t be real, right? Servants, Magecraft, the Holy Grail War...it’s all _ fiction! _ It _ has _ to be fiction. Otherwise—’ _

As though the world refused to let him complete his despairing thought, his ankles crashed into the bottom step of a staircase that ended in a flat ceiling and he toppled forward. As he struggled back to his feet, hands scrabbling at the wall for purchase, his hand caught on a ring of metal, tugging it downward.

A deep rumble of ancient stone scraping on stone resounded through the passageway, as the ceiling at the top of the stairs slowly groaned open. The dim light of the torches ended just past the opening, so Johan couldn’t see much.

His heart thumped in his chest as he slowly climbed the stairs. He didn’t know what waited above, but surely it would be better than a dark dungeon of stone, right?

-x-x-x-

_ ‘Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.’ _

On second thought, a nice, safe stone fortress seemed much more inviting than the unlit catacombs above. Who knows who or what could be lurking up there?

_ ‘Nnnnnnnope nopeity nope with a nope rope on top.’ _

A thoroughly drained and frazzled Johan staggered back into the chamber he’d awoken in, only to see that same pale spirit carefully running its skeletal fingers over the book he’d dropped, as though it was making sure it wasn’t damaged. As he re-entered the room, it turned its ghastly visage toward him and rushed forward, eliciting a startled yelp from Johan. Rather than trying to hurt him, however, it instead proffered the tome, handling the book with care approaching the level of reverence. 

With unsteady hands he accepted the book, letting it fall open in his limp grip. As he gazed at the same pages that it had been opened to before, he registered the spirit creature fade from sight.

Johan sat in front of the ritual circle, eyes glued to the Servant summoning aria. In all honesty, he didn’t want anything to do with a magical fight to the death, even if by some miracle this Grail _ wasn’t _ filled with the endless malice of Aŋra Mainiiu and actually functioned. On the other hand…

He was alone. Desperately, unequivocally, _ painfully _ alone. Johan wasn’t the most social of people on the best of days, but he’d always had the ability to reach out to _ someone _. But now…

He chuckled bitterly as he slowly slouched to his feet, book dangling from his left hand. _ ‘Summoning a Servant out of a fear of isolation...what kind of idiot am I, really?’ _

“So be it, then,” Johan said, his voice like silk being shredded by sandpaper. He thrust his right hand over the sigil and began to chant, hoping he didn’t botch the ritual.

_ “Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.” _

As he intoned the first line, he felt a heat spread through his arm and back that straddled the line between bliss and agony. As he spoke the second, the circle before him began to glow with unearthly silver light.

_ “Let Red be the color I pay tribute to. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.” _

As soon as the word “Red” left his lips, the silvery light flashed crimson, the exact color of his Command Seals. In tandem with the word “wind”, an unearthly breeze rushed from the circle, pushing at the suit-jacket that had long since come unbuttoned in Johan’s frantic romp around the dungeon.

_ “Let the four cardinal gates close.Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.” _

The heat beneath Johan’s skin was now firmly across the line into agony, but somehow, it wasn’t really registering. Maybe it was the ritual, maybe it was a sense of detachment from the foreign-yet-familiar body, but...

_ “Let it be declared now; your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth.” _

By all rights, he should’ve been incapable of continuing the aria, but his lips formed the words completely heedless of his pain. 

_ “An oath shall be sworn here. I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven; I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell.” _

Johan had always prided himself on his ability to endure, but he knew himself well enough to know this was something completely different.

_ “Yet you shall serve with your eyes clouded by chaos.” _

Something unnatural.

_ “For you would be one caged in madness.” _

Something unearthly.

_ “And I shall wield your chains.” _

Something _ not his. _

_ “From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance!” _

The flame in his skin reached a scorching crescendo as the last line of the aria fell from Johan’s lips, and the world was consumed with light. 

Mercifully, as the light faded so too did his pain, though it left behind a hollow ache that made him shudder. The book tumbled from numb fingers as his outstretched arm flopped to his side.

He let out a breath, and looked at the circle—no, at the man standing _ in _ the circle. To his shock and relief, in spite of only realizing he’d added the extra lines for the Berserker Class after the fact, the person standing before him had utterly unclouded eyes.

The man was blond, bespectacled, and slight of build, though there was an air of quiet strength around him. His clothes and posture both spoke of his being an educated man, and when he opened his mouth such was confirmed (not that Johan had harbored any doubts, considering just _ who _ the Servant was).

“Berserker of Red heeds your summons,” Henry Jekyll said with a solemn bow. “So then, Master; shall we make ready for the battles to come?”

Berserker was quite put off balance when, instead of making some sort of arrogant proclamation, or even agreeing with him, his Master promptly flopped forward and began sobbing into his shirt.

It was quite distressing, in all honesty.

Fortunately for Jekyll’s stress levels, the pale, shaking young man clinging desperately to his shirt seemed to run out of both tears and energy quite quickly. After muttering a nearly inaudible apology, he flapped a limp hand towards a couch, then shambled to a chair and collapsed into it.

“I...I’m sorry for all that, Doctor,” Johan gestured vaguely at where they’d been standing, not noticing how Berserker started at the way he’d been addressed. “I...I’ve just had a _ bunch _ of stuff happen all at once and I really don’t know what to _ do _.” He let out a shuddering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly holding back tears.

Jekyll leaned forward to lay a hand on his arm. “I do not know if I can help, Master—”

“Johan. Just call me Johan. None...none of that ‘Master’ crap.”

Jekyll cleared his throat, then started again. “I do not know if I can help, Johan, but I am willing to listen if you are willing to talk.”

Johan let out a deep, shaky sigh. “Where to begin…”

“I am told that the beginning tends to be the ideal place,” Jekyll quipped, prompting a snort from Johan.

“Well, it all started when I w-woke up in a b-body that doesn’t belong to me..”

-x-x-x-x-x-

Trent followed behind his Servant slowly, dragging a newly bought suitcase behind him as the woman wearing the name of the literary temptress and vampiress perused the shops. She was quite handily ignoring the stares being directed her way as she looked over the various different clothing shops.

The blond, still not quite on the same page as her, asked, “So, remind me again why this is necessary? Why it couldn’t wait until we got to Trifas?”

“Because I’ve no desire to continue being mistaken for a common streetwalker. These clothes are good enough for the task of buying better ones, but no more than that.” She gestured at the green minidress with more than some distaste, her mouth pinching in annoyance. “Though, I will be keeping the jacket; I quite like it.”

Trent had to admit, it was a pretty nice jacket and Carmilla wore it damn well. He was about to, but stopped and remarked, “You might want to know that I do know your true name, just an FYI.”

“…And you’d still trust me?” the white-haired woman asked, still facing away from him and seemingly giving a lot of scrutiny to a rather lovely camisole.

The Canuck shrugged as he pulled the suitcase up over his shoulder, and plainly stated, “Willing to, at least. You’ve not really given me a reason to mistrust you.”

“Actually, why did you choose me, if you apparently had the option of knowing who I am?” Carmilla inquired, shooting a narrowed gaze at her summoner. She kept on going through blouses, picking out a few that she found either flattering or to be in colours she liked.

The blond shrugged as he pointed out a few he thought looked nice or would suit her, though most of his picks earned him grimaces of disdain with only a few getting thoughtful hums. “I wanted to fit with the faction’s theme.”

“Our faction has a _ theme _?” the older version of Elizabeth Bathory asked, seeming utterly incredulous even as she moved from tops to bottoms. She clearly favoured slim pants that flattered her long legs, or skirts that did the same, though more than a few times did the blond catch her eyeing clothes that were more cute than mature.

Trent didn’t say anything on the matter of her gazing longingly at the cute clothes, knowing just the turmoil that she was facing due to her younger self. Instead, he nodded sagely as he answered, even as he prepared to pay for whatever purchases that Carmilla might rack up. “It’s the Monster Mash.”

Her eyes unfocussed slightly as she went through the information on the current age that she’d been granted by the Holy Grail. “I don’t believe you in the slightest,” she huffed haughtily a second later as she watched him pay for the clothing, finding the whole idea absurd.

The Canadian gave another shrug, though he silently despaired for both his bank account and credit score. He didn’t even _ want _ to know how much she spent in the lingerie boutique. “You say that now, as you’re not ready for the upcoming Graveyard Bash.”

The pseudo-vampiress rolled her eyes in exasperation even as she prepared to swat the Canuck with her purse, finding the joke trite and ill-fitting for someone of her stature. Rather than dodge the telegraphed blow, Trent rolled with it in an exaggerated way, acting as if he was gravely wounded as he rubbed the place that was hit.

His stomach, though, felt like it was roiling; tearing at its own walls and making him nauseous. For all his jokes and bravado, they were just that—a means to try and keep from utterly breaking down in the face of what was looming over him.

One of the most hectic and dangerous types of Grail war was about to begin…and there was little he could do but prepare to fight for his life.


	2. Chapter 2. Trent Starts a Race War and Johan Gets Shot

Trent sat in the plane, eyes half closed as he dozed in his seat, only somewhat aware of Carmilla’s astral self flitting about the aircraft. His peace was disturbed by the Assassin communicating with him, the link between them facilitating telepathy.  _ ‘Master, what are our plans for when we arrive in Trifas? The other teams will have had time to set up bases and defences and such.’ _

_ ‘Well, first and foremost will be dealing with the other groups’ familiars, and then setting up a proper base,’ _ the blond sent back, trying to sound as casual as possible.  _ ‘Luckily, my feather familiars will be perfect for taking care of any enemy familiars.’ _

Carmilla’s end was silent for a few moments.  _ ‘You’re going to start a war between familiars, aren’t you?’ _

_ ‘Carmilla, do I seem like the sort of person to start a war? I’m offended.’ _ With that reply, the Canadian shut his eyes the rest of the way and allowed himself to drift further off to sleep.

-x-x-x-

Chapter 2. Trent Starts a Race War and Johan Gets Shot

Johan ducked behind a corner as a decaying fingertip moving at the velocity of a bullet shattered one of the numerous skulls embedded in the walls of the catacomb.  _ ‘Shit, shit, SHIT! How did shit go this south this fast?’ _

_ ‘I think it  _ may  _ have had something to do with the way you emerged from the secret passage right in front of him without warning, Mast-er, Johan,’ _ came Jekyll’s not-voice; Johan still wasn’t used to that.  _ ‘That said, are you  _ certain  _ that you don’t want me to aid you? I may be weak for a Servant in this form, but a Magus is another story.’ _

_ ‘No, hold off. Unless something’s really wrong, this guy is part of the Red faction, same as us. Maybe I can get out of this without more viol—OW! FUCK!’ _

Another projectile had been fired his way, and based on the shallow gash on his shoulder, he’d narrowly escaped his assailant both metaphorically and  _ literally _ giving him the finger. It burned like nobody’s business, and stung far worse than the time he’d been swarmed by angry bees as a child.

If this was what a glancing blow felt like, Johan had precisely  _ no _ interest in ever being shot. 

Of course,  _ that _ was when the third finger tore through his forearm, and his vision went white from the pain.  _ ‘GAAAAAH! FUCK ASS SHIT!’ _

_ ‘Master! Forgive me, but I must disobey your order. You’re unused to using the Magecraft of that body; if this keeps up, you may die.’ _

Through his pain, Johan managed to transmit  _ ‘Don—GRHK—Don’t kill him. Please.’ _

_ ‘As you wish, Mast... Johan.’ _

In the next moment, there was a loud thump. After a few seconds, Jekyll signaled to Johan that it was safe for him to come back around the corner, and he did so, clutching shoulder as he stumbled forward. A tall, burly, brunet man bedecked in a leather jacket was laid out on the ground, no visible injuries on his body. Upon closer inspection, he could make out the three clawlike scars over his right eye that the shades he wore failed to conceal. As Johan had expected, this was unmistakable Kairi Shishigo. But really, who  _ else _ would use rotting fingers as bullets?

Once he’d finished examining Kairi, he turned to look at the Doctor.The thin, empty vial clutched in Jekyll’s hand quickly told Johan how the Servant had managed to subdue the man.

“The concoction I used was a mild one,” Jekyll said. “He should wake in about an hour or so without any ill effects.” 

Johan slumped against the wall, eyes screwed shut in pain. “Thank you, Doctor.” He let out a hiss as he slid down the wall. “D-do you think you could do anything about t-this?” He gestured at his arm.

Jekyll gave a soft smile, and walked over to Johan. “Certainly, Johan. Just allow me to inspect the wound…”

-x-x-x-x-x-

After finally having escaped the dread terror of customs and baggage claim, Trent had hurriedly escaped the airport, claiming his rental car with gusto. It was a cheap, clearly refurbished Ford Pinto that had seen more than a few years and crashes, but it would do its duty to him and Carmilla.

He quickly peeled out, dodging around other cars as well as he could while focusing on putting some distance between him and the airport for the sake of allowing his Servant some freedom to act. They ended up off the road, the boot of the car open as the Assassin quickly changed into something she found suitable for the weather. Trent merely sat in the front passenger seat, head resting against the dashboard as he looked down at the mess of feathers in his hands.

There was something odd about trying to get the whole thing to form. He had the whole blueprint in his notes, but while his hands were able to put it together and set the familiar upon the world, there was still something missing. As another pseudo-bird took off through the window, he willed it to go after other familiars in Trifas, with the desire to camouflage both his and Assassin’s actions while crippling Semiramis’ operations.

Carmilla slid into the driver’s seat, clad in a tight gray t-shirt that bore her midriff and belly button and a pair of burgundy capris, a pair of large orange sunglasses hiding her eyes. She adjusted the seat to suit her preferences, futzing a bit with the rearview mirror to get it just right. She didn’t even turn to look at her Master as she declared, “I’m driving.”

“Aight.” Trent, rather than actually fight her on this matter, instead just shrugged and went back to his feather familiar creation. He wouldn’t get in the way of the vampiress having fun while she was in the mortal world, and if she wanted to be the one to drive, more power to her.

The trip through the Wallachian countryside was peaceful, only broken by the squawking and crowing of Trent’s familiars as he unleashed them upon the unsuspecting world. As their cruise continued, the relative silence was broken by Carmilla.

“Where are you getting all those feathers, because I know you didn’t have them in your luggage?” she inquired, her tone somewhere between bland and threatening.

The Canadian didn’t answer immediately and instead finished working on his current familiar. After launching it out the window, he replied, “Don’t look in the backseat.”

“Master, while I can deal with the fact that this car is far from being up to my standards, the backseat better not be  _ full _ of bird feathers.” Carmilla’s fingers gripped the wheel to the point of her knuckles turning white as she seethed at her Master.

Fiddling with a feather, Trent remarked, “Well, it won’t be full of feathers by the time we get to Trifas.”

“So help me, it better not be,” the woman sighed with the force of one thousand exasperated partners, unable to truly deal with the Canuck’s nonchalance in the face of her restrained anger.

Of course, neither of them knew the level of chaos that they were unknowingly unleashing upon the skies of Trifas.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The burning agony in Johan’s shoulder had lessened considerably, thanks to Jekyll’s alchemical skills (but not Skill, for whatever reason). Thankfully, the person this body had belonged to (before Johan had been unwittingly and unwillingly tossed into it) had been sensible enough to stock a fair number of useful alchemical reagents, despite it not being his specialty. 

The tonic hadn’t healed him fully; the ingredients weren’t high quality enough for that. But the hole in his shoulder  _ had  _ shrunk to a shallow wound about the width and depth of a penny, which was a marked improvement. 

After applying the tonic to his wounds Jekyll had bandaged them, then went back up into the catacombs to retrieve Kairi. Meanwhile, Johan had managed to find some clean clothes so he could change out of the bloodstained ones. Unfortunately, a shower didn’t seem to be in the cards for him right now, so he’d just have to settle for a fresh grey shirt and a pair black slacks. 

Though he was still in pain, it was much more manageable than before. As he looked over at the couch Jekyll had carefully placed Kairi on, he cupped his hand over his chin. Things really seemed to be looking up…

Which, of course, meant that when the ceiling caved in before Johan, the armor-clad form of Saber of Red landing less than a meter in front of him and immediately putting the tip of her blade to his neck, he wasn’t as surprised as he really ought to have been.

Her armor was largely greyish silver, as was her sword, though both had prominent red accents throughout their construction. However, there were two things that immediately stood out to him, other than the sword at his throat, of course. The first were the two massive, unwieldy thigh-plates on either side of her legs. The second was the bull-horned, almost demonic helmet covering her face.

“Oi, oi! Just what the  _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing with my Master, magus?!” the Knight of Treachery snarled through her helmet.

Johan didn’t move a muscle as a droplet of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He could feel a pressure on his back and shoulders as the Servant glared at him, as if something was trying to press him down onto the blade.  _ ‘This...has turned into a difficult situation.’ _

_ ‘You have a talent for understatement,’ _ Jekyll quipped, the concern in his voice putting paid to the idea that he wasn’t seriously worried about what was going on.

Jekyll was no match for Mordred in his base form. As Hyde he could give her a fight, but by the time that transformation was concluded Johan would be long dead. He couldn’t even try to use a Command Seal, since there was no way he’d finish the second syllable of an order before he died, and he still had no idea how he was supposed to use the Magecraft of his new body.

So in other words, he had to try and negotiate.

With  _ Mordred. _

Joy.

“I’m not doing  _ anything  _ to him,” he replied carefully, desperately trying to keep his voice even as he mentally signaled Jekyll to be ready to transform if (and only if) things went sour. “I  _ may _ have startled him unintentionally and then got shot by him, but he’s not hurt. In fact, he should be waking up shortly…” He flicked his gaze over to Kairi, who to his immeasurable relief, seemed to be stirring.

He couldn’t see her face past the enchanted helmet on her head, but something in him could tell that Mordred was focusing her glare on him even more intensely. She gestured with the tip of her sword, just nearly missing opening his neck from ear to ear. “Move back, magus.  _ I’ll _ be the judge of my Master’s safety.” Before Johan had a chance to move, though, she gave him a shove with the butt of her sword. 

Thankfully, she hadn’t put much force behind it, so instead of being slammed into the wall with enough force to crack the stone and his bones, he merely stumbled back into the wall. As he slumped against the cold stone, he let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. In the next instant, Mordred was at the side of Kairi’s couch, berating him for getting captured.

If Johan hadn’t been an inch away from losing his head a moment ago, he might’ve found the way Mordred fussed over her bear of a Master charming. As it was, he was more concerned with getting his heart rate back down to a level  _ not _ putting him at risk of arrhythmia.

“Oi.”

_ ‘This fucking war will be the death of me, I swear,’ _ Johan thought, honestly too exhausted to have another panic attack. 

“ _ Oi. _ ”

_ “Let us attempt to avoid that outcome, shall we?’ _ Jekyll’s attempts to lift his spirits were appreciated, even if they weren’t as effective as either of the Master-Servant duo would’ve liked.

“ _ Oi! _ Pale bastard, you awake?!” Johan snapped from his musings to see that Kairi was now sitting upright on the couch, staring at him from behind shades with what he assumed ( _ hoped _ ) was a measuring gaze. 

“Oh! Sorry.” Johan scratched the back of his head. “I was conversing with my Servant.”

And just like that, the weight was back. Kairi stood, a shotgun having filled his hand while Johan was still reeling. After taking a few moments to stare at him, weapon trained on his head, he lowered it once more.

“You’re not Yggdmillennia. I guess that makes you Berserker of Red’s Master? That shifty priest said you were the only other one who hadn’t checked in with him.” With his words, the pressure in the room receded to a nearly unnoticeable level—but it was still there.

Johan nodded. “I’ve run into a few... _ issues _ , so I haven’t had anything approaching time to do so.” Johan glanced at Mordred. “I’m guessing you are Saber of Red?”

“Aye, and don’t you forget it!” she snapped in response, a mix of anger and pride filling her tone.

“Well,” Johan began, gesturing for the duo to take a seat before doing so himself. “We didn’t get off to the best start, so I think it would be best for all parties if we start over from the beginning.”

At Kairi’s cautious nod, Johan spoke. “My name is Johan, and this is my partner, Berserker of Red.” He waved a hand to one side as Jekyll materialized beside his chair, giving a gentlemanly bow.

“Oi, oi. Is this some kind of joke?” Mordred cut in. “He doesn’t even feel like a Servant, let alone a Berserker. 

Johan looked over at Jekyll.  _ ‘If you don’t mind telling them, I think it could do a lot to build trust between our groups. And, well...I know it seems absurd for me to say this since the man  _ shot _ me, but Kairi Shishigo is, as far as magi and spellcasters go, a decent man.’ _

Jekyll gave a light frown.  _ ‘I will admit: I have some reservations about offering them such information, even if we have the same information on them due to your... _ knowledge _ . That said, I am willing to trust your judgment on this matter, Johan.’ _

Johan gave a small, bittersweet smile.  _ ‘I appreciate that, Doctor.’ _ He then looked back at Kairi and Mordred, both of whom were regarding him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

“Sorry about that; Berserker and I just needed to come to a decision.” He leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. “The reason he doesn’t feel like a Servant is due to his identity, and we have decided to share that identity with you as a show of good faith.”

Kairi’s jaw dropped open, and Mordred let out a wordless noise of surprise even as Jekyll stepped forward. 

“I, who have been called forth under the Class of Berserker, am Doctor Henry Jekyll. While in this form, I barely classify as a Servant. However, when  _ that thing _ takes control…” Jekyll shuddered. “The creature known as Edward Hyde more than qualifies me for the Class I bear. It is an  _ utterly  _ wretched thing, but it will do a far better job protecting my Master than I ever could.”

And that was a statement that nobody present had a response for.

-x-x-x-x-x-

When the Pinto crested the final hill between it and Trifas, Trent’s eyes widened in shock at the sight.

The sky above the town was filled with flocks of birds, doves and the pseudo-ravens that he called familiars having taken to the air as they tried to kill each other. People had taken shelter indoors, watching the skies in horrified awe as the avians tore each other apart.

Torn and ruined feathers decorated the streets and anything in them, even as unidentifiable bird corpses fell among them like some macabre pillow factory accident.

The Canadian Master raised a hand to his mouth, unable to speak in the face of the race war he’d wrought, birds dying across the whole city due to his machinations. On one hand, should probably have been pleased to have been so successful in his attempt to hinder Semiramis; on the other, the sight was horrific.

Carmilla, took in the view with nothing more than bland stoicism, though she did take a moment to pull her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to look over the tops of them. After a few quiet moments, she remarked, “Are you sure I wasn’t a compatibility summon?”


	3. Chapter 3. The Gang Terrorize a Trio of DILFs

Chapter 3. The Gang Terrorize a Trio of DILFs

Trent and Carmilla sat in the small hotel room that the blond had rented, neither of them saying anything as Trent sat with his head in his hands. Eventually, he broke the silence.

“I can’t believe that I’ve done this.”

The Assassin quirked an elegant eyebrow, her expression torn between bemusement and genuine humour. “And yet, here we are.”

‘Here’ was the state of things outside, as the streets were covered in torn feathers and bird guts, all from the war that the Canadian had accidentally started with Semiramis’ doves. It was still ongoing in some places, with squadrons of birds harrying each other and trying to go for the kill.

Trent looked up at Carmilla and asked, “What am I even going to tell the rest of the Black Faction? Seriously, I’ve probably caused so much havoc.”

The vampiress shrugged at the question and returned one of her own. “Do you even plan on getting in contact with them? We’re technically supposed to be the team dedicated to remaining under suspicion.”

“…I’ve got it,” was all Trent said in response, closing his eyes and quickly wresting control of one of his familiars. With that done, he pulled it away from the ongoing bird war and had it wing towards Yggdmillenia castle. The collection of old European buildings earned a curl of his proper lips as he watched his familiar approach them from the skies.

After flying in through a window and dodging a number of housekeeping homunculi, the familiar eventually found its way into a large hall, where Lancer of Black and his Master were quietly scheming. Trent tried to force his familiar to broadcast him clearing his throat in order to gain their attention, but only succeeded in making it caw loudly.

This action still got their attention, but it also nearly got his familiar impaled by a sudden stake, though he managed to get it to dodge out of the way in time. Frowning as best he could through the familiar, he remarked, “As should be expected from an unenlightened mudman, attacking on sight.”

“You’ve some nerve saying that, with all that you’ve done in Trifas,” Vlad the Impaler shot back, leaning back in his throne regally.

The pseudo-raven lifted a wing up and smartly retorted, “Honestly, you should be praising me, as I’ve not only disrupted our enemies’ spy network, but have also created an effective smokescreen and a reason to keep the uninvolved off the streets.”

The fact that he had done all these completely unintentionally didn’t really seem relevant to the conversation, so Trent cheerfully ignored it. He might not have been happy to be flying by the seat of his pants, but it did help him think.

“I suppose your words do have some merit, though it was still tactless and overblown,” the former ruler of Wallachia declared imperiously, even as Darnic stepped forward.

The elder magus cleared his throat and interjected, “The real question, Blackmore, is when exactly you’re going to join us here in the castle. It’s the ideal staging location for us when going up against the Red Faction. More than that, it would actually be better for us were you to do something  _ useful _ rather than something overblown and idiotic, so why don’t you start by joining us here.”

"Actually, as the Master of Assassin, it’s honestly more practical for me to be outside the Black’s staging area, as enemies will  _ expect _ us to come from there,” Trent replied. “Also, like fuck I'm showing up in person before you, you actual Nazi." A vein in Darnic’s forehead visibly pulsed at the reply, and his mouth had already opened to retort when the familiar obnoxiously continued, “Where’s my Iron Cross for all my Race Warring? I did it better than you, you stinking mudman, SCRAWWWWW!”

It was at that point that a wooden stake flashed into existence in the familiar’s head, causing it to fall to pieces and Trent to snap back to reality with a horrible headache. He looked up to Carmilla and flashed her a thumbs-up, meeting her unamused gaze. She crossed her arms below her chest and asked, “Did you  _ have _ to shout that last part?”

“Absolutely necessary, had to sell the act,” he replied, as he once more cradled his head, this time wishing for some aspirin.

The Assassin stared at him blandly, and asked, “That you’re a crazed bird man?”

“Exactly,” the Canadian answered.

Carmilla shook her head, disappointment clear on her face. “Why are you like this?”

-x-x-x-x-x-

“Wha…” Johan gaped at the streets of Trifas in unmitigated horror. When Kairi had suggested that the four of them go topside to acquire Mordred and Jekyll some casual clothing so they didn’t stick out, Johan had  _ definitely _ not anticipated surfacing to see the streets run red with the flesh and blood of dead birds.

Kairi, meanwhile, was more focused on the skies, his keen eyes noticing a few dark shapes still remaining in the air and battling with one another. He spat off to one side in disgust. “ _ Blackmore _ .” He said the name like a curse, the look on his face one of distaste.

_ “Oi, master.” _ The Knight of Treachery’s voice echoed out of empty air, nearly causing Johan’s heart to pop out of his chest.  _ “You know who’s behind this mess?” _

The necromancer let out an affirmative grunt. “The Blackmore family Magecraft, no doubt. Only those damn lunatics could control this many birds at once.” He pulled a cigar out of his jacket and stuck it in his mouth, before lighting it with a rune. “Not like them to be this sloppy, though.”

Johan turned to look at Kairi, his mind working. Blackmore, Blackmore... _ where _ had he heard that before?

_ Oh. _

“When you say ‘Blackmore’, Mr. Shishigou, do you mean ‘Gransurg Blackmore’? The  _ Dead Apostle Ancestor?” _ Johan asked tensely. (Kairi had already determined that he wasn’t going to convince Johan to drop the formalities.)

Kairi chuckled darkly. “They  _ claim _ to be his descendants, but hell if I know if they’re telling the truth. All I know is they’re obsessed with bird-themed Magecraft, and their heir, Trent, is supposed to be a piece of work.”

Johan blinked owlishly.  _ ‘Trent...Blackmore? No, it can’t be. What kind of coincidence would  _ that _ be?’ _

_ ‘Master?’ _ Jekyll asked silently.

Johan shook his head minutely.  _ ‘No, it’s just…someone I knew went by that exact name. It’s probably just an odd coincidence.’ _

Jekyll gave the telepathic equivalent of a shrug.  _ ‘I would not know the likelihood of such a thing; the True Magics are  _ far  _ outside my area of expertise, and what happened to you certainly seems to qualify as the use of  _ two _ . That said, if one soul has been displaced, who is to say another was not, as well?’ _

Johan looked down, eyes clouded with thought.  _ ‘Perhaps, Doctor. Perhaps.’  _

After a long moment, he turned back to Kairi. “Is this… _ Trent _ part of our faction? Or is he one of that Yggdmillenia snake’s pawns?” 

Kairi shook his head. “He’s not one of ours, that’s for sure. But the Blackmores are  _ old _ . If he’s working with Yggdmillenia, it’s not to become a part of their little group. He’s probably a merc, like us.”

He dropped the butt of his cigar and ground it beneath his heel. “One thing’s for sure, though. With how things have calmed down, he’s probably near or in Trifas. He’ll want to see the results of his work.” The necromancer bent down and scooped up a particularly meaty giblet. “I think I’ll pay him a visit.”

A faint flicker of mana crossed Johan’s senses. As he turned to look at Kairi, the other man asked, “You coming, kid? It’ll probably be dangerous.”

Johan paused. He had to admit, part of him wanted to see if this Trent  _ was _ the one he knew. And that aside…

“I’m probably safer  _ with _ you, Mr. Shishigou. Until I fix the problem with my circuits, I’d rather stick with you.” He scratched the side of his head. “Sorry for putting you on the spot.”

Kairi snorted, waving his hand dismissively. “If we’re gonna team up for this clusterfuck of a war, I might as well get used to it. Just pay me back if I’m in a pinch, huh?” Johan nodded. “Right then. Follow me, kid.” Kairi started waking down the street, not bothering to step over the mangled avian carcasses in his way.

... 

The squishing, crunching noises that his boots were making made Johan shudder. If the guy they were going to meet  _ was, _ by some contrivance of fate, the Trent he knew...well. He’d have some explaining to do.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The Master and Assassin pair sat in the quiet hotel restaurant, as most people were in their rooms, making concentrated efforts to  _ not _ to look outside and upon the carnage. The food was honestly quite lovely, though Trent had some issues actually eating; still, he tried while Carmilla calmly consumed her lunch. The wait staff had decided to leave them alone for the most part, only coming by rarely to make sure everything was alright.

The Canuck eventually put down his utensils, staring at his plate in melancholy. After a few moments, he remarked, “I bet that so many wild animals and hobos are gonna be heavy with dove meat.”

“Really? Right now, while we’re eating?” Carmilla asked, though she didn’t stop.

The blond shrugged and said, “I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like someone out there decided to throw a number of bird flocks through a thresher. It’s a PETA member’s nightmare.” He paused, then smiled. “Wait, that’s a good thing. Fuck PETA.”

“More and more, I’m coming to the conclusion that we’re far too compatible,” the vampiress sighed before sipping at her wine. “Then again, perhaps it would be better if we were  _ more  _ compatible; maybe then you’d not exasperate me so.”

“It’s a talent,” Trent remarked as he continued to stare at his plate. “That and pissing off unenlightened mudmen are my two primary talents.”

“Please, do find other ones to hone,” she shot back with a scowl.

Trent made a whining noise and turned to look out the window, only to make a choking sound. Outside the window was one Kairi Shishigou, looming menacingly and staring them down from behind his sunglasses. Standing behind him, peeking over his shoulder was some gangly albino that Trent didn’t recognize, which confused him.

They stayed staring at each other, neither moving until Trent made an exaggerated motion to indicate that he was inviting them to sit with them. This earned him a cocked eyebrow from the mercenary, but it was the least he could do.

They were out there in the dove guts, after all.

The aforementioned albino appeared to say something to Kairi, who turned to reply, gesturing back at Trent and Carmilla. The stranger glanced back their way, eyes lingering on Carmilla for a brief moment before returning to Kairi, running a hand through his hair and gesticulating.

After a few moments, they seemed to come to an agreement, and entered the restaurant. The waiter that came to meet them seemed rather nervous, likely because of how intimidating Kairi was. However, they were shown to Trent’s table in short order, where they both took a seat opposite Trent and Carmilla.

Quiet settled over them as they stared at each other, only Trent was panicking internally as he tried to figure out just what to do. After a few moments of awkward silence, he cleared his throat and said, “Mister Shishigou and…his friend.”

“Johan,” the now-named man interjected.

Trent nodded, somewhat surprised by the name as he knew a Johan back before he was forced into his current situation, but tried to stay cool. “Well, Mister Shishigou and Johan, what brought you to me?”

Kairi snorted. “You know damn well why we’re here, Blackmore.” He lowered his voice. “What the  _ fuck  _ were you thinking?” the man hissed, a scowl on his face.

The blond raised a finger as he retorted, “First, I never expected things to escalate as they did, it was more to try and cripple the enemy’s spy network. Secondly, the old Nazi’s the one who told me to make myself useful.”

Johan looked at him balefully. “Please, by all means, explain how this is ‘useful’. Because what I’m seeing looks like something out of  _ Birdemic _ .”

“Really,  _ Birdemic? _ At least show some respect to the classics and cite Hitchcock,” Trent scoffed as he leaned back in his seat. “Also, it should be noted that I sent them after enemy familiars, and I consider stopping my enemy’s creation of a police state useful.”

“To your first point,” Johan began, “I cite  _ Birdemic _ because Hitchcock would’ve been  _ appalled _ at your sloppiness. As to your second…” Johan paused, seemingly in thought. “I  _ suppose _ that destroying  _ her _ familiars is a worthy cause, but  _ still _ .”

It was at that moment a voice sounded from nowhere.  _ “Oi, master. Why’re we sitting around and talking? Working with  _ them  _ I get, they’re more trustworthy than the witch. But these two are Black Faction!” _

Kairi sighed. “They invited us, my king. It’s the least we can do to hear ‘em out before we start shooting.”

“Also, consider the fact that I honestly don’t really care about the whole team thing. Seriously, it’s led by a Nazi, literally a huge monster, and also has that dumb bitch Celenike on it. Sure, some of the others are salvageable, but…” The blond explained, holding out a single hand to gesticulate with. “Furthermore, I’m not going to be told off by a preteen who’s too cowardly to show their face.”

A sound somewhere between a shocked splutter and an enraged roar sounded, and the Knight of Treachery materialized in all her armored glory, Clarent pointed at Trent. “Wanna try that one again, bird-shit for brains?”

Kairi palmed his face and Johan stood up, hands pressed against the table. “Can we please  _ not. _ This was going so  _ well _ ...at least, as far as meetings between Magi go.” He gave a tired sigh, and slumped back into his chair. “This fucking War is gonna be enough of a mess  _ without _ people getting murdered at the negotiating tables.” He glanced around, presumably checking to see if anyone had seen the spat at their table. Thankfully, it seemed to be a very slow day, probably due to the race war.

“Lord knows that I don’t trust that fucking priest as far as I could throw Saber; wouldn’t it be better if we worked together?” Johan added with a nod towards her.

Kairi snorted. “You must be naive or stupid, kid. Working together with other Magi is a pipe dream on a good day, and with this War in the mix…” He shook his head before glancing at Mordred. “My king, his insult isn’t worth staining your honor, right?”

“Despite his relative pigheadedness and poor ability to gauge the consequences of his actions, I’d ask that you leave my Master unharmed,” Carmilla interjected as she dabbed at her lips daintily. “More than that, I think it would be incredibly uncouth to kill him while sitting and having a civil conversation, to say nothing of whether it would be honourable or not. Then again, given Saber of Red’s temper, I’d guess that their honour’s about as good as their self-control.”

If Mordred had been angry before, now she was on the edge of spontaneously changing to Berserker Class. Before she could speak, a blonde man dressed in the garb of a Victorian gentleman materialized beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. He whispered something inaudible in the Knight of Treachery’s ear, and whatever it was, it seemed to be sufficient to calm her down and cause her to scoff and lean up against the wall. The man then turned to regard Trent and Carmilla.

“Pardon my rudeness, sir and madam,” said the man, offering a courtly bow. “I am Berserker of Red, though I may not look it.”

Trent stared at the Heroic Spirit that he recognized as Doctor Henry Jekyll, screaming internally as he remembered the sheer lunacy that was needed to put down the Berserker version of Mister Edward Hyde in Prototype. He was quiet for a few moments, and then clasped his hands together. “So, I must say that an alliance would be…quite welcome, in truth. While Assassin and I can take care of a few priority targets easily enough, working together with the four of you would be  _ quite  _ welcome.”

Johan glanced at Kairi, who was frowning, but didn’t object. “I don’t see why not,” the younger man said. “I’ll take working with someone who  _ doesn’t _ approve of Nazis over that serpent in a cassock any day.”

Mordred scoffed, but didn’t comment.

“Now, I know that you might not trust me overly…but what if I told you that I had a plan to take out Assassin of Red?” Trent offered with a wicked grin.

Mordred now looked considerably more interested in the discussion at hand.

Carmilla looked to her Master and sighed. “Master, please don’t just say things like that. The last time you were so self-assured it ended up with the tableau outside. If anything, it would be wiser to deliver her head to them and then tell them that you had a plan like that.”

“I’d rather have someone know to avenge me if we fail and die to Kirei’s adopted _gyaru-oh_ brother,” Trent sniffed as he turned his nose up.

Johan, who had been taking a sip of complimentary water, promptly inhaled it through his nose and began choking. Kairi, on the other hand, simply pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered,  _ “I’m too old for this shit.” _


	4. Chapter 4. Jekyll Persuades A Minor

Chapter 4. Jekyll Persuades A Minor

After Johan managed to stop choking on his water, due in part to Jekyll patting his back, he suggested that the six of them, quote, “go somewhere that doesn’t smell like a charnelhouse” for the remainder of their planning session.

Trent, ever willing to point out the obvious, was about to comment on the fact that it smelled quite lovely in the restaurant, only to receive a pinch to the side from Carmilla. After giving her a hurt and teary look—which was met with a stern glare that he withered before—he gave his assent after settling the bill.

Johan allowed Kairi to take the lead, partially out of respect and partially because  _ fuck _ if he could remember the way back. He wasn’t  _ quite  _ as bad as, say,  _ Ryoga Hibiki _ , but his sense of direction was still shit.

Regardless, once they’d reached the graveyard, and subsequently, the entrance to the catacombs, Johan sketched a sarcastic bow. “Welcome, lady and gentleman, to our humble abode: the Bone Zone.”

The sound of Kairi’s hand impacting his face echoed through the graveyard.

“While I’m flattered, it’s a bit early in our relationship, isn’t it?” the Canadian inquired as he nudged a clod of dirt that looked suspiciously like a severed foot. He then looked askance at Carmilla, as she’d simply walked with them to the catacombs.

The vampiress looked about, clearly nonplussed with their new accommodations, and sniffed. “Honestly, the whole ‘Magi skulking around a graveyard’ thing is rather trite, isn’t it?”

Kairi shrugged. “I dunno why the kid set up shop down there, but I’m a necromancer; this place is like an ammo depot for me.”

Johan scratched the back of his head. “On my end, I’m an ectomancer,  _ apparently.”  _ This last he muttered low enough that Trent could barely hear him, before he continued, “So where Mister Shishigo can get physical materials, I can get metaphysical ones...or at least I  _ could _ , if my damned Circuits were functioning properly!” He punctuated his agitated statement by scuffing the toe of his boot against the ground, sending up a puff of dirt, dust and probably bonemeal.

“I mean, you don’t see me setting up shop in an aviary, you know?” Trent replied as he looked between the agitated young man and the clearly disgruntled older man. “It’s just kinda… I dunno, gauche? A bit  _ too _ on the nose?”

Kairi fixed him with a deadpan stare over the top of his shades. “Take a good look at me, kid. Do I  _ really _ look like the kinda guy who cares about shit like that?” He gestured to himself with both hands.

“I don’t know your life,” was Trent’s smart aleck reply, though he trailed off at the end rather quietly. “Is what I should say, but then again, I do know some dank shit…”

“‘Dank shit’ like knowing what a  _ gyaru-oh _ is despite being from an ancient European magus family?” Johan quipped without looking back.

The blond shrugged and remarked, “Well, it’s like one of my Japanese animes, as the Otacon so wisely said.”

Johan snorted. “And there I thought you were a purveyor of Chinese mangos; my mistake.” Internally, though, he was rapidly starting to consider the possibility that this Trent Blackmore might, in fact, be the same Trent Blackmore that he had known in his own world.

“I’m a fan of Taiwanese Puppet Shows, especially when Shooting Doujin voices a sultry sword,” Trent chuckled, feeling like he was right back at home, shooting the shit with the boys. Johan made a noise somewhere between a snort and a surprised chuckle.

_ “What the hell are they talking about?” _ Mordred audibly asked Kairi from spirit form.

“I’ve got half a clue,” Kairi replied, “And that means I know enough to know I don’t want to know more.”

“You too?” Carmilla remarked as she made a show of daintily stepping over a small dip in the ground, clearly not enjoying their surroundings in the least. She was even grumbling as they traipsed through the catacombs. “While I know that I’m associated with dungeons and the like, I feel that going the way of the cryptkeeper is a bit much…”

A nervous chuckle echoed as Jekyll faded into view. “Now, now. Surely we can let them have their fun. Lord knows that my Master could use the company of a kindred spirit. I have done my level best to support him, but...he has been having  _ difficulties _ , of late.”

“While that’s all well and good, I find it hardly any good for there to be someone encouraging my Master, especially after the last time he got ‘inspired’.” Even as she said that, Carmilla’s lips twisted into a disgusted grimace, an expression that Jekyll mirrored as he recalled the avian apocalypse they’d witnessed.

Trent turned to look at her, hurt and betrayed, and replied, “Hey, if it’s stupid and it works, it’s not stupid.”

“No, covering a town in bird viscera doesn’t count as  _ working _ , it counts as causing a hell of a scene!” The vampiress all but roared back, eyes blazing with anger. “I wanted to be able to relax, enjoy the town a bit! It’s so nice to be close to home, after all, but then you caused that horror show outside!”

Trent shrunk in on himself. “Sorry…”

Kairi stared at the ceiling as he brought a cigarette to his lips and lit it. As he blew out a cloud of smoke, he muttered, “So this is my life now, huh?” 

It might’ve just been his imagination, but he thought he felt Saber put a commiserating hand on his shoulder.

-x-x-x-

All but collapsing into a sitting position on a coffin, Trent couldn’t help but think that he was probably doing something at least marginally blasphemous...but given that he planned to arrange for an assassination in a church later, he decided to put it down as a small misdemeanour. Putting his elbows on his knees as he steepled his hands in front of his face, he began, “You might be wondering why I gathered you all here toda—”

Before he could finish, Carmilla smacked him across the back of his head, clearly unimpressed. Rather than actually respond to the assault, the blond cleared his throat and continued, “So, the plan to deal with Assassin of Red. It’s pretty simple, but bear with me. Essentially, it’s an incredibly simple plan with Assassin and I approaching the church in the day, with Assassin using her Presence Concealment to simply appear as a regular human rather than as a Servant. Then, I’ll distract Kotomine with statements about his brother, family, and goals while Assassin heads down and takes out Assassin. Luckily, Assassin’s Noble Phantasm is anti-female, so it should basically take her right out.”

Johan blinked slowly, and was silent for a few moments. “Is...is that  _ all?” _ he asked, almost incredulously. “That seems a bit...no, it  _ completely  _ hinges on two pretty big assumptions. First, that you can distract and  _ survive  _ Ama—er,  _ Kotomine _ , long enough for Assassin to get in. Second, that Assassin can go toe to toe with a Servant who is not only from the Age of the Gods, but has all the advantages of  _ both _ a Caster and an Assassin,  _ on her home turf. _ ” 

Johan glanced at Carmilla. “Don’t take this as me insulting your abilities, Assassin; I’m just concerned that, even with your legend supporting you, the Queen of Assyria may be too powerful to take down so easily.”

“Hm, so you say…” Trent hummed as he leaned back in his seat. “I suppose that it would probably be best to discard with the dancing around then… Johan?” Pulling his arms across his chest, he eyed the man suspiciously, as he declared, “You just admitted to knowing about things you shouldn’t have there! Semiramis’s Double Summon, her very identity, and more than that, you admitted to knowing the truth of Shirou Kotomine!” He stopped there, but then sighed.

“No, I said we should discard with the dancing, you know the truth about the former Ruler, the Apocryphal Saint. Amakusa Shirou Tokisada!” As he said that, he whipped his arm forward, pointing at Johan with a massive flourish.

Kairi glanced between the two, eyebrows raised. “Mind filling me in on what the fuck you two are talking about before you start flinging overdramatic accusations at one another?”

“In my defense,” Johan replied, “I haven’t flung any accusations, overdramatic or otherwise, despite my suspicions.” He looked back at Trent. “As for ‘admitting things I shouldn’t have’, I just thought we ought to put all our cards on the table.” He winced. “I’d feel like a piece of shit if my being cagey with what I know got one of you all killed, let alone  _ me _ .”

“In my defence, I  _ am _ a drama queen,” the blond admitted. “And honestly, that’s fair. If we’re putting all our cards on the table, then our best bet would honestly be having you figure out whatever the fuck’s wrong with your circuits and then unleashing Hyde on the two teams. While they have Karna, it’s doubtful that they’d be willing to have him team up with Siegfried and Vlad to take him out.”

At that, Jekyll materialized, looking  _ very _ concerned. He glanced at Johan, who, rather than looking shocked, seeming to have come to a realization. “Mr. Blackmore,” Johan said seriously, “What is your opinion on the works of Takeuchi? Specifically, his work on  _ portraits. _ ”

Kairi, Carmilla, and Jekyll blinked almost in unison at the seeming non-sequitur, but Trent simply narrowed his eyes as he answered, “Quite simply, that if he makes any more girls look like Mordred over there, then we’d all be fucking tired enough to riot and make the man draw someone other than Arcade Bumsteed or Arturia!”

The next series of events happened  _ very _ quickly. Even as Johan looked on in horror, Mordred materialized right in front of Trent, pulling him off his feet by his lapels and giving him a gentle (for her) shake. “Oi! How’d you know my name, Bird Bastard!?”

“A little bird told me!” Trent joked, irreverent in the face of the angry Saber, despite the fact that he really shouldn’t have been. “Real talk though, I’m…familiar with Heroic Spirits in general! Arty’s  _ kind _ of a big deal!”

Before Mordred could go any further, Carmilla interfered by wrapping a hand around one of the Homunculus’ wrists. “As much as he infuriates me and seems to earn treatment like this, I do need him alive. Let him go, Knight of Betrayal, so that he might answer properly.” Though her tone was icy calm, she spoke in cold, imperious tones, and that added to her greater height caused her to look down her nose at Mordred.

Mordred, for her part, ground her teeth and glared at Carmilla. Kairi stood up even as Johan let his face drop into his hands. “Dammit, Trent. It really is you, isn’t it? Only you would run your mouth to a Servant, and a _Saber_ no less.” He looked up balefully, and addressed Mordred. “Saber, would you mind all to terribly _not_ killing him? I know he thinks he’s _a lot_ more clever than he is, but underneath all that mouth, he’s actually a genuinely good person, so… _Please don’t kill him?”_

“As an aside, before you think about killing me,” Trent grumbled as he hung limply in her grip. “I coulda answered you a  _ lot _ worse, and made you a lot angrier. If it makes you feel any better, I could probably explain just why you didn’t get what Morgan promised to you, or at least, Arty’s reasoning!”

_ “Goddamnit Trent,” _ Johan almost-screamed, slamming his face into his palm even as Mordred’s eyes twisted in genuine rage.  _ ‘Since there’s no way you can transform because I don’t know how to turn on my  _ fucking _ circuits, do you think you can talk her down, Doctor?’ _

_ ‘I can try, Johan. I can try.’ _ Jekyll walked forward, his gait far more confident than his mental voice. “Sir Mordred,” Jekyll said calmly but firmly, standing a pace or two away from the Knight of Treachery. “While Blackmore’s words seem to fly faster and looser than his mind seems to realize, I implore you to ask yourself: are words spewed in a panicked frenzy truly worth breaking an agreed-upon parley and thereby staining your honour?”

Jekyll folded his gloved hands behind his back. “I am certain that, despite what the legends may say about you, that you are first and foremost a proud and honourable knight.” The doctor spared a glance at Kairi. “Otherwise, you would not have answered Mr. Shishigou’s call.”

Mordred took a long look at Jekyll, then huffed and let Trent fall to the floor. She spat to one side, then said, “You remind me of that damn songbird; always talking and  _ persuading _ .” She bared her teeth in a bitter smirk. “But at least he could fight. We’ll have to see if you’re more than talk, glamor boy.” As she walked back to her Master’s side, she fixed him with a challenging gaze, which Jekyll met passively.

“Considering that Berserker Hyde needed Arty, Brynhildr, Ramesses the Second and Arash to take him down, with _ a dead Master and fuck all mana available  _ and still gave them the sort of fight that Berserker Herakles powered by an Einzbern Homunculus would? I think that Jekyll deserves some props,” Trent opined from the floor, having not bothered to get up, just in case Mordred decided to hit him or something, so it would be a short trip.

Before Jekyll  _ or _ Mordred could react to this absolutely ridiculous, albeit absolutely true statement, Kairi finally reached the limit of his patience. “Alright! I hate repeating myself, but I’m gonna need you two to tell me  _ what the fuck you’re on about _ .”

“Before I do that, I gotta ask Johan something,” Trent said as he raised a finger up to point at the skinny albino. “You the Johan I know? My shitposting chuuni buddy who really likes Dantès and Hans?”

Johan gave a weak chuckle. “I’d say that my path goes beyond Love and Hate, but at this point it’s going more beyond Depression and Mania. That’s me, although it would seem that this time  _ I’m _ the Albino, while you’re just Very Mean.”

“I’m an asshole, I’ve never lied about that,” Trent grumbled as he forced himself into a sitting position. “As for just what we’re on about, me and Johan are an isekai plot, we got thrust into our current bodies from our old universe where we had a…sort of, outsiders’ view of things in this one and ones similar to it. Swear it on…uh…Merlin’s still catfishing people from Avalon. Using the internet. What a guy, real inspiration.”

Before Kairi could respond to  _ that _ whopper of a statement, something  _ very _ odd occurred. Despite them being deep underground in a catacomb, a fresh breeze smelling of flowers blew through the area, carrying on its back pink flower petals and an airy chuckle.

A chuckle that, judging from the way Mordred’s face turned pale, she recognized it as well as Trent and Johan did.

“Oh, good,” Johan said flatly, a dead look in his eyes. “The ‘trusted advisor’ has decided to grace us with his attention.”

“Mordred, Carmilla, a cautionary tale: Merlin has attached definitively male appendages to places where they  _ decidedly _ do not belong, of which Mordred is a result,” Trent remarked as he slumped tiredly back to the ground. “Also, supreme sadboiz, it’s not Proto, so no ara ara onee-san semen demon sorceress.”

“Don’t worry, Trent,” Johan said in a mock consoling tone. “I’m sure that, if you wish hard enough, Magi✩Mari will visit you in your dreams.”

“I want a real ara ara onee-san semen demon sorceress, not a catfish made to fuck with Solomon,” the Canuck shot back, just bonelessly lying on the ground. “Listen man, I’d take Shuten at this point and risk the deboning.”

By this point, Kairi had given up trying to follow the duo’s conversation and had lit up another cigarette, while Mordred was busying herself checking the corners of the catacomb for ‘that shitty wizard’. Carmilla just shook her head, having already decided that she was stuck with Trent and his shenanigans for the foreseeable duration of the war, even if he did give her headaches.

Johan gave a full body shudder at Trent’s comment. “My dude, I can’t say I relate. ASMR is all well and good, but that bony oni is absolutely  _ terrifying _ . I’m not saying I’d rather summon Bluebeard, but Shuten’s not  _ that _ much higher on the list. My bones will stay right where they are, thanks.”

“Sometimes, you just want to die while eating the ass of a petite oni who’s got hips like whoa,” Trent sagely remarked, still flopped on the ground. “Besides, I’m lucky that I didn’t summon Jack the Stripper and get ganked for having Reika in the room with me.”

Johan made a face. “What happened to that psycho, anyways?”

“I let Carmilla bleed her dry, figured it’d get her out of the picture and give Carmy something to wear while we bought her better clothes,” the Canuck answered, rolling his head to the side to dodge a slow and telegraphed stomp from Carmilla. She clearly did not enjoy her new pet name, but Trent was sure that it would grow on her like he had, in a decidedly fungal manner.

_ “Oh,” _ Johan replied, nonplussed. He glanced at the vampiress, and then sighed. “Well, the woman  _ was _ a genuine danger to society, and as much as I  _ should _ be upset about the literal murder, I can’t seem to muster the energy.”

He raised a finger and lazily shook it at Trent. “Please refrain from killing people who  _ aren’t _ murderous psychopaths or trying to kill us, mkay?”

“It was one time…before today. Besides, you agree with me that Amakusa’s slampiece needs to go, and so does that dumb bitch Celenike,” Trent shot back, crossing his arms across his chest as he lay in the dirt and bonemeal.

“Honestly, other than the Forvedge kids and  _ maybe _ Gordes, the Yggdmillenia can all eat a Vasavi Shakti to the face for all I care. Darnic is a knockoff Zouken on  _ top _ of being a literal Nazi, and Celenike is  _ cartoonishly _ evil. As for the kid…” Johan paused to think for a moment. “I don’t remember him being  _ especially _ heinous, but doesn’t that Kamen Rider villain motherfucker feed him to his Adam golem?”

“He was just a lonely kid who didn’t know how to socialize that got preyed on as a sacrifice to make Adam go,” Trent explained tiredly. “Poor autistic child, used to fuel a golem. Couldn’t even help the Predator evolve.”

Johan made a face. “That’s...well, honestly par for the course when it comes to most Magi, but  _ still _ .” As they discussed the Yggdmillenia, a thought occurred to him and he turned to Jekyll. “Say, Doctor. Do you think, assuming we can gather reagents, you could create an elixir that could restore normality to malfunctioning magic circuits that are causing someone horrible pain and preventing them from walking?”

“Great idea, that’ll lure the Forvedges to our side, and possibly bring over horse cock and Frankenstein’s potato daughter.” Trent chortled from the ground, clearly having some fun with the idea. “Any ideas on what to do with burnable waste? Or should we just steal his Catholic School Girl?”

Jekyll looked between the two of them, then answered Johan’s question. “I should think that I could create something of the sort, though it would indubitably help to meet with the patient.” He looked over to Trent curiously. “Now, what was that about Victor’s daughter?”

“She communicates almost entirely in grunts and noises, and while definitely a good girl, she’s a potato. She’s just…not entirely functional as person, it happens, some people are like that.” The blond replied, trying to just sort of phase into the ground to escape Jekyll’s judging stare. “She’s also the Berserker of Black. May or may not be in for a whole dish of trauma from Shakespeare using his Noble Phantasm on her.”

Jekyll narrowed his eyes, for the first time since his summon looking genuinely angry. “He does, does he? I think I may have to pay that man a visit.”

“He likes to hang out in the woods around the Church so if you want to come with me and Carmy…” Trent offered from where he was laying, having no other course of action.

A very un-Jekyll smile crossed Jekyll’s face as the Doctor’s fingers curled around scalpels that weren’t there. “I think I would like that very much, Mr. Blackmore.”

Johan cleared his throat. “You  _ do _ recall that I can’t open my magic circuits due to this being some random guy’s body, right?”

“Hey Johan,  _ grit your teeth _ .” With that, Trent pulled out a feather from his sleeve and stabbed it into his friend’s ankle, forcing mana through it and into him, forcibly activating his magic circuits.

Johan, having not gritted his teeth at all, toppled from where he was sitting with a shriek as his body convulsed with foreign mana. As Johan’s consciousness faded, he had time for one thought.

_ ‘You motherfucker.’ _


	5. Chapter 5: The Gang Bets On A Catfight

Chapter 5: The Gang Bets On A Catfight

{_It’s Always Sunny In Trifas _is written in front of a live studio audience.}

After Johan had stopped convulsing on the floor and recovered enough to actually talk, Trent had started elaborating on his plan. “So, part of the reason why I suggested bringing Carmy into a throwdown with Semi-truck was because she gets a fame and homeland boost due to us being right next to Hungary. On top of that, if we fight them during the day, then the vast majority of the Red Faction won’t be able to help her due to them all having supremely flashy attacks.” He had actually sat up as he explained, hands at his side, the feather that he’d used to stab his friend hidden up a sleeve. The blond was forced to grunt when Carmilla swatted him lightly, unimpressed with his nickname for her.

“Except Shake and Bake,” Johan interjected, levering himself to his feet with a grunt. His _ everything _ hurt, but he was coherent and capable of movement, so he counted it as a win. He glanced at Jekyll, who had snapped out of his cold rage to fuss over Johan and was now standing to one side as composed as ever. “But I think the Doctor can handle that, especially if I’m actually providing him with mana now.” 

He raised an eyebrow at Jekyll, who nodded, replying, “Oh, certainly. Where before I was barely able to manifest into this world, now I’m sure that I could use my Noble Phantasm, at least for a short while.”

Something about that statement twigged something in Johan’s memory, and he pulled out the grimoire that he’d woken up with. He paged through it rapidly, and eventually found what he was looking for. “If I can figure out how to use this friggin Magecraft, I might be able to extend that amount of time…” He snapped the book back shut after marking the page. “...But it’d probably be better to do that later.”

He looked up at Trent, then glanced at Kairi and Mordred. “So...any ideas for what Bone Daddy and Saber should be doing?”

As Kairi spluttered in confusion, Trent leaned forward, and prepared to stand up, his back cracking as he did so. Carmilla peered at his incredibly dirty and dusty back, her face twisting distaste at the accumulated filth. The blond cleared his throat and admitted, “Well, I’d hoped that Mr Shishigou would be on standby outside as a getaway driver, while Smoldred would wait in the distance to keep her from being noticed.”

“The Hell’d you call me?” the aforementioned knight all but roared, once again marching up to Blackmore, eyes blazing in fury. She was about ready to shake him when the others all gave her disapproving looks, which caused her to stop. She then gave him a quick punch to the kidney, sending him to the ground, wheezing in pain.

Surprisingly, it was neither Carmilla nor Johan, but _ Jekyll _ who commented, “You deserved that, you know.”

Trent hacked out a cough, eyes wide and watering as he choked, “Alright, stopping now. Also, I did say that I’m an asshole. Needlessly antagonizing people is my comfort zone.”

“Every day, I wonder if this is some punishment for my acts in life. Then I realize that this was just the most twisted compatibility summon ever,” the Assassin grumbled, her lip curled in disdain as her sunglasses hid her eyes.

Johan stroked his chin as though pulling on a lengthy beard, then spoke. “Remember the wizened words of words of our dear Elizabeth Báthory-obsessed friend: Your rights end where other people begin.” He shook a finger at Trent with mock severity. “Only antagonize people who _ can’t _ turn your body into a cubist art display with their bare hands.”

“Listen man, I need to get my fix somehow, it’s either needling people or accidental bird race wars. Take your pick.” Even as he said that, he shuffled back up to his full height, groaning as he rubbed what would obviously bruise. Though he did look to Carmilla, who had sent a mental squeak across their link when the albino had mentioned her old name.“And it’s not my fault Gawain and Lancelot didn’t crack short jokes…”

“I’m sure that between the Knight of the Sun’s potatoes and the Knight of the Lake’s philandering, Saber received more than the requisite amount of torment from the other Knights of the Round.” Johan replied dryly, sparing a glance at Saber to see how close Mt. Mordred was to erupting again.

While she definitely wasn’t amused, she didn’t look about ready to erupt, and instead interjected, “Feh, those guys wouldn’ta done it unless they thought they could get away with it! Gareth might, but only by accident.”

“Yes, well, she did a lot of things by accident, like seducing all those knights and princesses,” Trent chuckled at the thought of Lancelot’s biggest fan trying to get along with Mordred and ending up insulting her. “Actually, wouldn’t Kay’ve? No, he’d have gone after Arty, for sure…”

“Can we please stop gossiping about the Round Table? It’s getting rather old at this point, and while slapstick is all well and good, I’m sure that the only one waiting for you to get kicked up and down the crypt by the Knight of Betrayal _ is _ the Knight of Betrayal,” Carmilla sniped, looking both unamused and bored out of her mind. All while her eyes were hidden behind her shades.

“I dunno,” Johan mused as he stood up. “I’d give it even odds that the dickwizard would find it funny.” The exact moment before he finished getting to his feet, a pink petal materialized beneath his heel, sending him tumbling back down to the ground. A faint chuckle echoed throughout the crypt.

“See?” he groaned. “Merlin _ loves _ slapstick!”

“That’s only because he knows that if he were here, he’d be the one getting hit,” Trent grumbled, glaring at the petals as they swept through. “He knows that we know that he knows, and so do Gil and Solomon. And probably the Queen of Sheba.”

He then looked up and remarked, “I probably just got all eyes on this event, didn’t I?”

Johan sighed. “Moving on from the metaphysics and terrifying implications of EX Ranked Clairvoyance…we gonna do this thing or what? I’ll be about as useful as tits on a bull, but I can at least go with you and act menacing at Amakusa.”

“I mean, wouldn’t it be better for you to actually start figuring out how to Magecraft? Like, if you wanna come, why don’t you just hang out in the car with Mr Shishigou and he can give you advice?” the Canuck offered as he scratched at his chin, one hand still on his side.

Johan sighed. “Unfortunately, while you opening my Circuits definitely helped me out on that front, what I lack are _ materials _. Specifically, ectoplasm.” He glanced around the crypt. “While I think there is plenty here, I’m frankly not too thrilled with the idea of staying here by myself while y’all go and assassinate one, maybe two enemy Servants.” He glanced around the crypt and shivered slightly. “For a number of reasons.”

“I mean, if you wanna come and loom at Amakusa with me, feel free. Maybe you can help me make jokes about Kirei wanting to kill his wife when she necked herself,” Trent said as he started to head for the entrance to the crypt, Carmilla shaking her head as she followed behind him.

Johan side-eyed the other man. “Sometimes I wonder why we’re friends.” He sighed, something he was starting to think he’d be doing a lot of. “Oh well. At least you’re more likely to draw aggro with that mouth of yours.”

“We’re friends because you know that I ultimately mean no harm to people I like, while declaring the big fuck off at people I don’t like,” the Canuck said with a sharp nod. “It’s not my fault that Mordred doesn’t like my playful poking.”

The Saber class Servant, while somewhat calmed, responded by beaning him with a rock. Again, light enough to hurt, but not maim or kill. He just rubbed at the back of his head, and admitted internally that the response was fair enough.

Johan rolled his eyes. At least Saber seemed to have settled on responding to Trent’s insatiable appetite for punishment with non-lethal responses. That was...progress, right?

Right.

-x-x-x-

Stepping into Trifas’s historic church alongside Johan, Trent couldn’t help but feel that he’d made a horrible miscalculation. Rather than being empty except for the three of them, the chapel was packed with praying and worried people, one of whom was even currently speaking with the priest. As he hung back at the entrance of the chapel, the blond couldn’t help but grumble, “I can’t believe that all my plans backfire on me like this.”

“I can. This is _ us _we’re talking about, after all,” Johan quipped. “So, what’s the play?”

“We continue on. While it’s technically inordinately scummy, if he doesn’t start anything then everyone in here will make it out just fine,” Trent declared as he steeled himself to be even more horrible, it wasn’t like he was trying. At this point, he was fairly sure that Darnic actually would just give him an Iron Cross.

Johan blinked, then an expression somewhere between disbelief and horror crossed his face as he processed what Trent was proposing. “I...I’d like to go on record that I oppose this, even if I don’t have any better ideas.”

“It’s terrible, horrible, and completely morally bankrupt. However, it’s also incredibly useful for us,” the blond remarked pragmatically. As he said that, he approached Amakusa while the priest noticed him and started to head his way.

The tanned Servant offered a mysterious smile as he greeted, “Hello, I’m Father Shirou Kotomine; if you’re here for a service, I’m afraid that I’m rather swamped giving people guidance.” His gaze drifted over Trent’s shoulder and to the doors and his smile shrank. “The situation outside has driven many believers to seek shelter here in fear of something akin to the Rapture outside.”

Receiving confirmation that Carmilla had penetrated the depths of the Church, the blond clasped his hands in front of him as he inquired, “Well actually, I was familiar with another Kotomine, so I figured that I’d come and see what the one here was like. Good ol’ Kirei, I wonder if he got to the ‘torturing children in his basement’ phase…”

“…My brother unfortunately took his own life rather recently,” the priest said, his smile giving way to a frown, especially considering the circumstances.

Johan’s face became completely blank at this. “...You have my condolences.” Sure, they were here to kill Amakusa’s Servant (and hold a bunch of innocent people hostage, apparently) but come on. There were _ lines _.

Trent pursed his lips at that, his brows raising in surprise at that news. After a few moments, he apologized, “I’d not heard, my condolences. The crack about the basement was something of a…joke, told by those who knew him.”

“I wasn’t aware of any such joke, but I’ll admit to having been estranged from him for quite some time. Still, was there anything else that I could help you with?” Amakusa asked as he considered just what he’d learned from Trent.

The Canuck considered it for a moment before reaching the hand with his Command Seals on the back of them out and taking one of Shirou’s hands. Making sure he could see the Seals, he declared, “Mister Amakusa, I’d ask that you not do anything hasty, as if you do, then every single person in this church will become aware of Magecraft. This method is truly distasteful, but I’ve found that sometimes, you need to dirty your hands.”

“You dare? In the house of the Lord?” Shirou quietly snarled, his face twisting in rage at just what was occurring before him. He didn’t even care about his true name being revealed in favour of being outraged with what Trent was doing.

“Believe you me, I’m not happy about this either,” Johan shot back. “But considering what _ you _ plan to do, good intentions or not, I think this a case of stones and glass houses.”

Trent held up a finger as he remarked, “Mister Amakusa, I’m not letting you _ Lostbelt _ the timeline that I have to live in, but rest assured, we’ve no plans to let Darnic achieve「Heaven’s Feel.」”

Johan nodded. “Honestly, neither of us really have a wish; we just want to give Bone Daddy his Bone Daughter back.”

“We just want to reunite a skeleton family,” the Canuck agreed with a solemn nod.

Amakusa wasn’t taking it, and responded, “I’m trying to bring humanity salvation!”

“You really aren’t,” Trent replied with a shake of his head.

“Your intent may be salvation, but in truth your wish will spell naught but damnation,” Johan added, leaning against a pew in Edgy Monologue Pose 3, arms folded and hair shading his eyes. “The Grail could wipe the desire for conflict and evil from humankind’s mind, certainly. However!” He threw a hand out dramatically, palm up. “Sad though it may be, without conflict humanity will stagnate, and then the World will discard this timeline, consigning it to oblivion.”

The incarnated Ruler scoffed, “There’s no way that the Lord would do that, not with the miracle that he bestowed upon me.” As he said that, his free hand curling into a fist.

“You say that, but there’s a reason why Solomon isn’t on the Throne anymore,” Trent said blandly, trying to hold down the emotions surging within him. “Your Lord’s plan certainly accounted for him getting yeeted out of existence.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean; King Solomon more than earned his place on the Throne.” Despite the duo’s assertions, Amakusa remained strong in his convictions.

Johan sighed. “It seems that we’re at an impasse, then. Your faith in your God dictates that what we say must be a lie, but our knowledge dictates that we must oppose you.”

“In the end, it has to be this way,” Trent said solemnly as he sent a mental message to Carmilla, ordering her to kill Semiramis as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Likewise, Johan directed Jekyll to find and cut down Shakespeare.

The blond shook his head as he eyed the priest before him, it would have been better if they could have stood together, but this was expected.

-x-x-x-

Assassin of Black strutted through the shadowy basement of the Church, keeping her eyes peeled for any Servants though she was able to sense most of the ones hiding beneath it. Eventually finding the door that she was looking for, she slipped inside it while taking care not to set off any of the barriers around it.

Within the room was a beautiful brunette woman in a long black dress, a furry ruff around her neck, elven ears peeking out of her cascade of hair, and a pair of golden nails through the palms of her hands. She was working on putting together some large structure, using magecraft to get it all put together to her liking.

Deducing that this was Assassin of Red based on what her Master had told her, she prepared her Noble Phantasm as she silently approached her target.

Carmilla understood that she was not a good person.

The existence that was the Heroic Spirit Carmilla was based upon the actions and consciousness of Elizabeth Bathory, affected by the stories and legends she spawned of the vampiress Carmilla. Rather than be dragged down by this, she understood that her actions were evil and that evil was the path she’d travelled down; and thus, she used it.

She was an evil person, an assassin who specialized in the killing of women.

Standing behind the Wise Queen of Assyria, she shucked off her Presence Concealment, and activated her Noble Phantasm.

Semiramis twisted around, eyes widening in surprise as she tried to respond to the sudden attack.

“Bleed out for me, so that I might use it for my bath, Queen of Assyria!” Carmilla roared as the giant Iron Maiden loomed up around the Assassin of Red, the spikes swinging in towards her at high speed. It was like a beautiful, sculpted guillotine, the woman at prayer looking truly contrite for her part in the execution. “Phantom Maiden!”

The Queen’s face twisted in rage as the doors slammed shut, her eyes wide and manic as she tried to fight against the instrument of her imminent demise. The nails in her hands were forced out of them from the weight as she tried to keep the doors from closing on her, her arms and legs failing under the heavy strain. Her eyes darted to the blood on the ground before snapping back to her assailant, her mouth twisting into a vengeful grimace.

As the sides of the Iron Maiden finally slammed shut, blood squirted from the crevice and hit Carmilla’s face. Rather than enjoy this, she winced and quickly brushed the sizzling liquid away from her flesh as it had somehow been converted into a supremely caustic substance.

Quickly reassuming her Presence Concealment and hiding her Noble Phantasm, the Assassin contacted her Master and appraised him of her success. As she prepared to sneak out of the Church’s basement, Carmilla wondered if things were going as smooth for the Berserker they brought with them.

It’s not like a Caster who was based on a playwright would be too much trouble, right?

-x-x-x-

William Shakespeare screamed as a scalpel carved through the door of his study. An emerald eye peered through the gash, wide and manic. _ “Heeeeeere’s J—” _

The menacing drawl was cut off as Shakespeare, shaken by the display, launched his book at the intruder. As the book slammed into the damaged door, the eye withdrew.

Caster of Red’s reprieve was only momentary, however, as the door was blasted off its hinges by the intruder’s kick.

The man strode into the room, a scalpel in each hand. An unhinged smile split an otherwise handsome face. _ “So, _ you _ are the dastard who would dare sink your filthy paws into dear little Fran’s mind.” _ Mad fury burned in the man’s eyes, and Shakespeare realized that he was facing a Berserker.

_ “Pick a god and pray.” _


	6. Chapter 6: Johan Manipulates A Paraplegic

Chapter 6: Johan Manipulates A Paraplegic

As Jekyll stalked towards Shakespeare, one hand fishing in his pocket for something, the playwright gathered his wits and boomed, “Now, my good sir! I’ve nary an idea of which you speak, but assuredly, you must have the wrong person!”

Jekyll let out a dark chuckle. “Perhaps that might seem the case from your perspective, but I have been afforded a... _ unique _ perspective on this farce of a war. No matter; even if it is for sins yet to pass, your life is forfeit nonetheless!” 

As he snarled this last, Jekyll’s hand emerged from his pocket, a small, rose-adorned phial containing a pinkish liquid clutched in his hand. 

“Come now, blaming a man for something he’s not done is like shooting the messenger! It’s a tragedy in the making and I won’t even be there to record it,” Shakespeare argued as he tried to back away from the advancing man.

Ignoring the Caster’s protests, Jekyll lifted the vial to his mouth, tore the cork from it, and downed it in one gulp, snarling, “ _ Noble Phantasm! Dangerous Game!” _

The vial and scalpel fell from twitching fingers as Berserker’s body began to twitch violently. He let out a blood-curdling howl as he grasped his head and hunched over, his flesh roiling like storm-tossed water.

Scurrying back, the playwright snapped his hand before him, stumbling over his words as he chanted, “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player! That struts and frets his hour upon the stage –  _ First Folio! _ ”

And then the world was light.

-x-x-x-

As the light of First Folio faded, Shakespeare found himself in a house. As he looked around the room, he saw that he was in the sitting room of a fairly nice Victorian house. A fire crackled merrily in a fireplace, and numerous shelves full of books lined the walls. A pair of chairs faced the fire, and Shakespeare could see the unidentified Berserker slumped in the chair, asleep. The other Servant’s face was far more peaceful than it had been in his office, Shakespeare noted.

The other chair, though, contrasted heavily with the homey feel of the room. It was mangled and damp, barely held together by its wooden frame and scraps of cloth. 

Looking about, the brunet Servant narrowed his eyes as he took in the setting. His fingers dusting over surfaces as he strode about the main room. The sole window to the outside revealed a howling void, but even then, it felt like it was the next step in the journey. He chuckled a bit as he eyed the sleeping Berserker.

“My, my, how dreadfully dreary a mind you have for one so enraged,” Shakespeare said as his eyes drifted across the spines of the books. “I’d have thought you’d have had a more tempestuous mind, something to make me think back to the great work of Titus Andronichus. But you’ve presented me with this. Come now, come now, wake up my good sir, so that I might find out just what makes you tick!”

The brunet clapped his hands a few times before the sleeper’s face, and shook him when he didn’t respond. Eventually, it became clear that what he was touching was an empty shell; alive, true, but empty nonetheless. Whoever Berserker was, his mind was somewhere else...and Shakespeare could guess where. “Truly, I must now take after the great heroes of today, and step into the great beyond. What a thrill, though it’s not as fantastical as their journey!”

There was an almost jaunty skip to his step as he headed for the door, a grin on his face as he reached for the doorknob. Oh, he was so curious as to just what might be waiting for him. What might this give him to write about?

As Shakespeare crossed the threshold into the yawning void, he heard the door snap shut behind him. When he looked back, the house was nowhere to be seen. In all directions, there was naught but abyss. Undeterred, the pernicious playwright sallied forth into the looming black, his feet finding purchase on a path made of nightmares.

After walking for what he guessed was about five minutes, Shakespeare started to feel... _ something _ . He couldn’t quite place it; had he been a Servant with any inclination or experience in combat, he’d probably have been able to tell what it was...but he was a scholar, and so William Shakespeare continued walking, blissfully unaware of how he was walking directly into the jaws of the beast.

In the space between one step and the next, there was a rush of wind and a burst of searing pain. 

The arm that held Caster’s Folio had vanished, torn off and cast into the infinite dark.

Even as he inhaled to let out a bellow of pain, his breath was stolen away by the massive, pitch-black claw erupted through his back and out of his chest, clutching his heart in its hands. As his vision faded to white, he felt razor-sharp fangs dig into the flesh of his neck. An inhuman growling echoed in his ears as his Noble Phantasm destabilized. 

-x-x-x-

Shakespeare’s eyes snapped open, raw terror surging through his veins as he looked about, confused by the fact that he was back in his study. He went through a quick check of his body parts, eyes scanning around as he tried to steady his breathing. He wasn’t quite sure as to what he’d just experienced and what had happened.

Never before had he ever experienced such a reaction to his First Folio, nor was he sure that he was entirely intact.

As his eyes scanned his studio, his eyes came to rest on an unfamiliar shape, hulking, black, and covered in coarse, stiff fur. The... _ creature _ was slumped on the ground a few paces away from him, exactly where the Berserker had been prior to his Noble Phantasm’s activation.

It didn’t take a rocket surgeon to discern that the well-dressed Servant and the man-sized black beast were one and the same. Thankfully, though, the monster seemed to still be unconscious, likely due to the effects of his Noble Phantasm.

Slowly, carefully, Shakespeare struggled to his feet, raising a gloved hand to his head as a spike of pain shot through his mind. He felt a wetness on his lips, and when he touched his fingers to it, they came away red. ‘ _ Curiouser and curiouser, to have been so hurt by my own Folio…though, I suppose that a Berserker would be most likely to do so… _ ’

As he thought that, he tried to stumble his way to the door, his hands dragging across the walls to support himself. As one hand stretched out towards the doorknob, there was a noise behind him, and he froze.

This was the wrong choice, but he would never know it, as his head went flying an instant later. Fangs and claws tore and ripped at Shakespeare’s now-headless body, rending his spiritual core from his chest and and swallowing it whole.

As the mana suffused his form Hyde chuffed in satisfaction, and fur and claw became flesh and cloth. 

Doctor Jekyll glanced around the study with a dispassionate gaze, eyes skipping over the mangled corpse disintegrating into spiritual particles before he grasped the doorknob. As he left the room far too calmly, he reached out across the mental link between him and his Master.

_ ‘Caster of Red, William Shakespeare, has fallen. Shall I come to where you are?’ _

After a moment of silence, he received a reply.  _ ‘Sure. I think we’re about finished here. Good work, Doctor.’ _

-x-x-x-

The members of the Black Faction had gathered in the main hall of their Castle Yggdmillenia, listening to a briefing from Darnic and Vlad when what looked to be a crow winged into the room, screeching obnoxiously as it did so. “SCRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW! I’m here to give you unenlightened mudmen some truth, SCRAAAAAAAAW!”

“…Blackmore,” greeted Darnic, his expression pulling into a powerful grimace as he eyed the familiar. “What, exactly, do you want with us? Or are you here to disclose the name of your Servant, as you were supposed to?”

“SCRAW, Assassin’s identity shall remain hidden from you until such a time as it becomes necessary for it to be revealed, you unenlightened mudman!” Trent cawed through the bird, flapping his wings somewhat. “I actually came to tell you, that unlike all the rest of you, Assassin and I actually took out both Assassin and Caster of Red. So yeah, while you all were sitting here with your thumbs up your asses and having a circlejerk, we were doing work.”

Swooping around the hall, he cackled, “I love how you all think  _ I’m  _ the useless one, but you all have done all of jack and shit!” As he said that, a glodule of something fell from the familiar’s rear end and splashed down on the top of Darnic’s skull. Though he set the familiar to flee the hall it was quickly impaled by a spontaneous stake from Vlad, but it died laughing.

As Darnic stood to leave the room and wash off the shit on his head, a second familiar winged in and dropped its load on Celenike, cackling the entire time, “That’s what you get, you dumb bitch! SCRAAAAAAAAAAAW!”

It was shot down by a thrown curse, but it too went out laughing as Trent was clearly having a ball harassing his own team. Still, the meeting was very much canceled due to two of the people having been shat on by birds, though it was definitely successful. The various members of the Black faction dispersed throughout the castle, even while Trent’s destroyed familiars unleashed their final,  _ ectoplasmic  _ payload while unattended.

Indeed, the birdshit that had come falling upon the heads of the Yggdmillenia was no ordinary faeces. No, contained within each payload was a dormant familiar made of ectoplasm, each possessing exactly enough mana to deliver their respective letters before collapsing into the ether.

And deliver them they did; one letter from Berserker of Red to Berserker of Black (via Caules Forvedge Yggdmillenia), and one letter from Johan to Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillenia.

The contents of the good Doctor’s letter was unknown to Johan and Trent both, as it was a message of an incredibly personal nature. The contents of Johan’s letter, however, was known to all of their group, as Johan had requested assistance with the wording and presentation.

It read as such:

_ Honoured Fiore Forvedge of the Yggdmillenia alliance, _

_ It has come to our attention that the Wish for which you seek the Grail is the reparation of the Magic Circuits in your legs, that you may retain both your status as a Magus  _ and _ regain your ability to walk.  _

_ We are likewise aware that your brother, the Honoured Caules Forvedge, seeks the Grail solely for your sake. Further, one among our number is an individual who was well acquainted with Berserker of Black in life, and would like nothing more to work alongside her, rather than against her. _

_ Among the Yggdmillenia alliance, you and your brother are those whose temperament we find the least objectionable. Indeed, we suspect that the Forvedge allied with Yggdmillenia out of convenience, not out of any particular moral or theological consensus. Thus, we propose: _

_ One of our Servants shall restore to you the use of your legs while allowing you to retain full usage of your Magecraft. In exchange, you and your brother, as well as your Servants, shall ally with our group to secure the Grail. _

_ We are prepared to offer a Geas Scroll agreement as a symbol of our sincerity. _

_ Should you, your brother, and your respective Servants choose to accept, leave a letter of reply on the balcony of your room. _

_ Regards, _

_ The White Faction _

-x-x-x-

A thin, shaky hand gripped the letter. Brunette hair shaded blue eyes clouded with uncertainty and distress as Fiore leaned forward in her wheelchair. An unknown faction in possession of an uncertain amount of intimate knowledge about her and her brother, at the very least, and claiming to be capable of healing her legs...she did not know what to think.

Grandfather Darnic was...not a good person, as was typical of a Magus. Fiore worked very hard to live up to his exacting standards, but in her heart she knew that she was not capable of separating herself from her emotions and perpetrating horrors in the name of reaching the Root. 

As for Caules, nothing truly needed to be said about him. He was no Magus, and she preferred it that way. Better that he could live a life far away from the backstabbing butchery of the Magus lifestyle.

The point was, she had too much empathy. And yet…

And yet, these other Masters claimed it was that very empathy that made her worthy of consideration. Were they spellcasters, heretics who cared not for the ways of Magi and used Magecraft for their own ends? Or were they liars, attempting to trick her into a position of vulnerability so they could cut her and her brother down?

She was unsure, and that frightened her. The fact that she was genuinely tempted by this offer, was genuinely tempted to put herself,  _ her brother, _ at risk…

...But then, wasn’t she already doing that by participating in this Grail War?

Fiore folded the letter up and slid it into her pocket, before turning her wheelchair towards her balcony window. Wherever they went from here, she decided, would be determined by all four of them; Masters and Servants both.

-x-x-x-

Trent and Johan sat outside the crypt, the Canuck looking torn between satisfaction and some horror based on his earlier actions. He was scratching at his chin, thinking on just what they’d do with the Iron Maiden full of acid that Carmilla had brought back with them. The blond blinked and then remarked, “Do you think we’d get in trouble for selling this acid? Like, if we found a way to bottle it up? We could probably brand it as a corpse remover…”

Johan raised a finger. “We could do that. We  _ could. _ On the other hand…” He gestured to Jekyll. “The good Doctor here  _ is _ a notably skilled alchemist. A poison created by a Caster from the Age of the Gods and refined by the man who used alchemy to split good from evil…” Johan hummed. “Something like that could possibly be a check against the son of Surya, don’t you think?”

“Maybe? The real question is delivering it to him, while we could probably keep some if we have to deal with Chiron and them…” the Canuck murmured as he tried to get it all figured out in his head. “Of course, dealing with the son of Surya will probably be one of the final steps in our plan, along with dealing with the Stake-y Boy. If I were to be honest, I think that the Chaste Huntress would be the ideal target for Carmy.”

Johan nodded. “If we can, I’d hope that the Forvedges accept our deal, and then we can just have Saber and Chiron fight it out for the Grail, with the winner getting their wish alongside Mr. Go-Lion.”

He rubbed his chin. “As for Karna, ideally we’ll be able to point Seigfreid at him and watch the fireworks, but you know shit never goes  _ ideally _ ...”

“If things went as we wanted them to, I wouldn’t have caused a fucking  _ race war _ ,” Trent groused, his face set in a hard scowl. He folded his hands up before his mouth as he admitted, “Hell, if things went as we wanted them to, I wouldn’t have had to  _ take an entire church congregation hostage. _ ”

“Excuse me, but did I hear that you took a congregation  _ hostage?!” _ a sweet voice demanded from over their shoulders. The lads turned their gaze and found Jeanne d’Arc standing behind them, clad in her backless button up shirt and booty shorts, her long blonde hair in a braid behind her.

Trent’s eyes darted to Johan. Then they darted back to Jeanne. Then he remarked, “Now, listen, if I wanted the opinions of actual kindling on my accidental crimes, I’d have built a bonfire. You dumb bitch.”

Johan stared at Trent for a long moment, then dropped his head into his hands.  _ ‘Goddamnit Trent.’ _


	7. Chapter 7: The Gang Tries To Lead A Catholic Schoolgirl Through Metamorphosis

Chapter 7: The Gang Tries To Lead A Catholic Schoolgirl Through Metamorphosis

As the suddenly manifested flag swung at Trent’s head, he brought his hands up and shouted, “You can’t actually attack me! It would be seen as you breaking your impartiality!”

Jeanne paused, standard in hand as she eyed the blond suspiciously, ready to continue in her pursuit of justice.

Johan raised his head from his hands to flatly interject, “As long as you don’t do any lasting damage, I didn’t see a thing.”

The saint offered him a wan smile, but shook her head. “Sadly, the Master of Black has already made too good an argument for me to actually go through with my original plan. Even though he really does deserve some sort of punishment for his sins.”

“My sins are few, and all of them minor, I’m sure even Midas would agree that it’s the Fields of Asphodel for me,” Trent retorted, finger up as he tried to protect his dignity.

“If words were knives, you’d be the most notorious mass murderer in history,” Johan deadpanned. He then looked over to Jeanne. “Ruler. Setting aside my... _ associate’s _ lack of tact for the moment, was there something we could help you with?”

“I can’t believe that Karna’s my Lancer compatibility summon…” the associate in question muttered, his brow creased.

Jeanne cleared her throat as she looked to the albino and answered, “My aims here were simply to find the one responsible for the uproar in town in regards to the clearly magical bird war. Suffice to say that I’m most cross with them, as they caused a huge panic.”

“The only reason it happened was because Semiramis escalated the conflict, my feather familiars were only to deal with hers. Besides, I never intended for it to spiral out of control as it did,” Trent tried to defend himself, expression twisting in annoyance. “I’m innocent.”

The Maiden of Orleans sighed, “While I’d very much like to deliver divine punishment upon you for how you endangered the secrecy of the war, you were lucky enough to have not actually tipped anyone off.”

Johan snorted. “Lucky, huh? I guess you’re right, even if our plans never seem to go as intended. We’re not dead yet, so I guess it evens out, kinda.”

“I just wish that the last one hadn’t gone so awry, I’m gonna feel like scum for days because of that hostage situation I did,” the blond muttered as he scratched at his chin. It was gonna be hell dealing with that one, but at least no one had gotten hurt.

Johan sighed. “You’re not the only one who feels that way, dude. I’m glad Amakusa didn’t call our bluff, though.  _ That’s _ a mess I’m not ready to deal with.”

“If he’d called our bluff, I’m fairly sure that he would have been the one to kill everyone in the church, given that he’d essentially have been calling up either Karna, Achilles, or just letting loose himself,” Trent remarked, thinking on just what would have happened had the Apocryphal Saint decided to fight them.

“Yes,” Johan replied, “Everyone in the church.  _ Especially us. _ Forgive me if I don’t want to get incinerated, impaled, riddled with arrows, or squeezed into spaghetti by that man’s magic blackhole fap hands.”

Jeanne looked between them, exasperation clear on her features as she asked, “I’m certainly glad that things didn’t come to that, as I’d like for this Grail War to proceed in a proper manner.”

Johan glanced at Trent. “Since you’re already in the doghouse, care to break the bad news, the worse news, and the “ _ Why Do You Hurt Me In This Way”  _ news?”

“How dare you, you coward,” said the man already in the doghouse, receiving a snort in return. “So, from the top: this Grail War’s been fucked from day one; the two of us along with some others are planning to form our own faction while saying ‘fuck you’ to our current ones; and finally, the leader of the Red Faction is in fact the incarnated Shirou Amakusa Tokisada, who plans to use the Grail to eliminate all evil from humanity’s souls and thus Lostbelt the entire timeline.”

“...You know what?” Johan said, “That’s fair enough; that’s about what I asked for.” He tented his hands and rested his elbows on a coffin. “Aside from that, there’s the not-so-little problem of the bodysnatching Nazi who could genuinely take over a Servant’s Saint Graph, given the chance, and who is currently in possession of the Greater Grail. Add to that the numerous top-tier Servants that both the Ruler of the Third War and Darnic Prestone Yggdmillenia have in their corners, and this is gonna be a right shitshow.”

“I figured that I’d just go for the main stuff, but I can see that you wanted to give her a full suffering sundae,” Trent remarked candidly, eyeing the saint who was torn between confusion and mounting horror.

Johan shrugged. “Forewarned is forearmed, and whatever personal feelings you might have about Ruler, you can’t deny that she’s a better choice to confide in than the lich and the zealot.”

The blond nodded at his friends words. “This is true, and I’ve no personal feelings about Ruler beyond bland disinterest—”

_ “Then why did you call her a dumb bitch, Trent?” _ Johan interrupted, a vein pulsing on his forehead in a most unhealthy manner.

The blond shrugged, “The opportunity presented itself, and she also can’t do basic high school math, so…”

_ “I’m pretty sure she was a bit busy fighting a war and then getting betrayed by her country for useless shit like algebra,” _ Johan shot back with a long-suffering sigh, before resting his chin on his arms and turning dead eyes to Jeanne.

Trent chuckled at his friend’s antics. “Oh, my dear friend, you know that I’m exactly the sort of person to take any opportunity to insult someone. What do you expect me to do with a literally uneducated peasant?”

“Maybe... _ not  _ immediately and brutally antagonize the person who has admin controls on this Grail War and may well prove to be a key factor in making sure humanity doesn’t undergo a mass lobotomy of the soul?” Johan replied immediately. “Or at least not open fire with the full Death Star arsenal on the  _ initial greeting _ . I know and accept this part of you, who casts Vicious Mockery as easily as he breathes, but there’s this little thing called a ‘filter’ that you’re choosing not to engage…”

“Johan, this is a woman who took Gilles de Rais at his base while understanding just what sort of shit he’d get up to without anyone there to anchor him. My genuine words are nothing in comparison to that,” Blackmore laughed, his expression twisting in wry amusement as Jeanne gave a small shrug at the remark.

Johan blanched at the reminder of the bug-eyed, Shoggoth-conjuring paedophile. “...I can’t argue that dealing with that loon must’ve been a trial and a half. But if I’m gonna have to be the one to  _ diplomatize _ , let me know now.”

“I figured that’d be the case from the get-go, my dude,” Trent retorted, his smile undiminished. “Hell, you volunteered to be the one to lure the Forvedges over to us.”

“Oh, sure. Make the introvert who’s made maybe ten real friends in his life handle interpersonal interaction.” Johan threw up his hands. “I’m sure that’s  _ not  _ going to end in fire and tears.”

The blond nodded resolutely at his friend, “Johan, you do remember that I tend to start my relationships with Vicious Mockery, and then keep the survivors around? Why would you leave the diplomancing to me?”

Johan raised a finger, considered, then lowered the finger. “I can’t find fault in your reasoning, and that makes me angry.”

“You see, my good albino, I can make every word hurt. It doesn’t need to just be mockery. I’d be unstoppable if there was some rhetoric based super power.” Trent chortled gleefully, having torn the rug out from beneath Johan’s feet.

“Right up until someone cuts your tongue out,” Johan snarked, rolling his eyes. “Anyways, maybe we ought to  _ properly  _ explain the situation to Miss D’Arc, rather than spew implication and innuendo back and forth?”

“Well of course we should,” Trent said as he looked to the saint who was trying to get the whole situation together in her head. “But then I started having fun, and you know how I am.”

_ “Do I ever,” _ Johan sighed.

Looking between the two, Jeanne couldn’t help but sigh. “While I’m sure that you’d eventually get your message across to me, is there anyone of actual sense that I can talk to?”

Johan made a face. “I’d protest that assertion, but we haven’t exactly left the best first impression, now have we?”

“It was better than that of Gilles’s friend, Francois, but it certainly wasn’t the best,” the saint agreed candidly.

Trent blinked and then snapped his fingers. “That’s what we should do, go and kill Prelati.”

“He’s still alive?” Jeanne asked curiously, absolutely baffled by the fact that Prelati was somehow still around.

The blond shrugged. “Prelati’s been bodyhopping into relatives for years, somehow dodging the soul rot too. I’d be impressed if I didn’t think that they kind of deserve to die. No matter how cute they are as Francesca.”

“And then there’s the whole risk of them bringing forth the Outer Gods that Raum managed to retcon into existence through the combined power of good ol’ Howard Phillips’ Self Insert and the Salem witch trials,” Johan mentioned dryly. “But again, we’re getting off track.

“If you want to talk to the most sensical member of our group, Miss D’Arc,” Johan said, “You’ll be wanting to talk to Berserker of Red.”

“A Berserker, the most sensical? Surely you jest…” Jeanne said, blinking in confusion at his assertion.

Then, a feminine voice came from within the crypt, “Believe me, the two of them definitely make a good case for Berserker being the sanest one amongst us, given how they drive myself, Saber of Red, and Saber’s Master up the wall.” Strolling out of the gloom was Carmilla, clad in a new outfit of a pair of tight black jeans and a cream turtleneck sweater, looking at Trent and Johan like a pair of asylum escapees.

Johan shrugged. “She’s not wrong. And for the record, Dr. Henry Jekyll isn’t exactly a  _ standard _ Berserker class Servant by any stretch of the imagination.” At that very moment, the good Doctor himself emerged from the crypt as well, having been examining a sample of Semiramis’ acid in the alchemical lab he’d established after being summoned.

Unlike Carmilla, Jekyll was content to remain in the clothing he’d been summoned in, though he’d removed his suit-jacket and gloves, as well as rolled up the sleeves of his button-up. He glanced at Ruler, then over to Johan.

_ ‘So, I suppose that the task of diplomacy falls to me once more, then?’ _ At Johan’s nod, Jekyll turned back towards Jeanne and offered a bow. “You are the Ruler of this war, Jeanne D’Arc, no? I am the Berserker of Red, Dr. Henry Jekyll. I do hope that my Master and his associate have shown you appropriate hospitality.”

“I’ve hardly been here long enough for one of them to show anything short of mild disdain, but I’m sure if I’m here for longer, the Master of Assassin of Black will try to insult me more,” the blonde returned with a small bow of her own, Command Seals flashing in the afternoon light as they were highlighted on her shoulders.

Berserker shot Trent a look, disappointment clear in his eyes. Trent returned it with raised eyebrows, and remarked, “You know how I am. This is how I make friends; they either weather the storm or get sunk by my vicious mockery.”

Jekyll simply shook his head and returned his attention to Ruler. “I would offer my apologies for Mr. Blackmore’s attitudes, but it is not my place to do so. Instead, I will simply request that you not allow your opinion of the rest of us to be coloured by his actions.”

“Were I to be honest, this isn’t enough to really colour my opinion of you, or even him. I was acquainted with some rather colourful characters during my time,” Jeanne replied, her expression wry and speaking of long suffering. “I’ll admit, it’s almost cute in comparison to some of the things I dealt with.”

A look of concerned bemusement crossed the good Doctor’s face. “I suppose that shall have to suffice for now.” He folded his arms. “Now, shall we move on to more serious matters? I presume that both my and Assassin’s Masters have mentioned certain... _ issues _ with the current Grail War?”

“They have, and I fully intend to do my own inspections of the War to ascertain as to whether or not they’ve told me the truth. After doing that, I’ll have to judge just what I’ll do about any irregularities I find, but I’m sure that it won’t be too much trouble to deal with in the long run,” the Ruler answered with a firm nod, her expression set in determination.

Jekyll looked at her for a long moment, cupping his chin in consideration. After a moment, he nodded. “Your confidence is heartening.”

At that moment, Johan interjected, “And of course, should you require assistance dealing with any anomalies, don’t hesitate to ask us; the whole reason we formed this group was because we don’t trust  _ either _ side, after all.”

“We’ll have to see just whether or not that turns out to be necessary, but if it truly becomes necessary, then I shall do so. Thank you for your offer,” Jeanne declared with a warm smile.

Before she could turn away, Kairi and Mordred walked out of the crypt, the Servant in her armour and the Master with a grim expression on his face. While his glasses hid his eyes, his gaze clearly lingered on Jeanne, before grumbling, “We’ve got action in the forests between Trifas and Castle Yggdmillenia. Nothing concrete beyond Rider of Black rushing for the woods, with the forces of Black following behind him. Red seems to be responding in kind, if the arrows raining down on the main body of Black’s forces is any indication.”

Johan sighed, and rose to his feet. “Well,” he said, dusting bonemeal off of his pants and pulling his Grimoire out of his jacket, “I guess the White Faction ought to put in an appearance as well.”

Trent nodded and rolled his shoulders, picking up the Mystic Code that had been passed down through the Blackmore line. “Caw caw, motherfuckers.”


	8. Chapter 8: The Gang Sabotages A Postpartum Abortion

Chapter 8: The Gang Sabotages A Postpartum Abortion

Gordes stood in the middle of a clearing in the forest, Rider of Black standing off to the side due to a Command Seal-enforced order from his Master, and a homunculus lying against a rock. Though there were a multitude of crows and ravens of all sizes in the trees, the Musik man assumed it was simply Blackmore watching from a distance.

As he advanced on the homunculus, his arms transfigured into metal, his stature (horizontal though it may have been) allowing him to loom over the boy. His face was twisted in anger, his cheeks splotchy and reddened, his mouth pulled into an outraged grimace. Despite his hands being held at the ready to strike, his fingers were curling and uncurling, almost as if he was imagining the homunculus’s neck in them. “You, you! This is all your fault, you defective thing! If it weren’t for you, Darnic wouldn’t be breathing down my neck, and our plans for the War wouldn’t be behind schedule!”

While the homunculus said nothing, Rider of Black’s nose crinkled in distaste as he was forced to watch.

Then, as the alchemist drew back his fist above the homunculus, the various birds in the trees broke out cackling, their wings waving in the air as they chorused. As the group looked around at the sudden cacophony, a pair of large red eyes skulked toward them, and the cacophony broke as quickly as it started. It was replaced by a low, rhythmic croaking, that they soon identified as laughing. As the red orbs locked on to Gordes, the laughter gave way to a low rumble which soon became clear to the onlookers.

_ “I’m a member of the Midnight Crew! I’m a night owl, and a wise bird too! Home with the milk in the morning, singing the same old song! Rise with the moon, head to bed with the sun, early to bed and you’ll miss all the fun! Bring your strife and trouble, it’ll never trouble you, that’s what it means to be a member of the Midnight Crew!” _

As the figure went through that whole chorus, it slipped into a strange dancing lope, its arms waving as if directing, and the birds in the directions it pointed to reacting with loud squawks and screeches. As it stepped into the clearing proper, the birds all took flight, circling around it at the being’s direction.

The light of the moon and stars made the figure’s appearance all the more stark as he stood before them. It was a masculine form, clad in a button up shirt and slacks, the sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to where its upper arms would be. However, where it should have had visible skin, sleek black feathers covered its flesh, except for its mouth. Where its mouth should have been, was a large black beak, cruelly curved, set beneath the eyes like crimson lamps.

Its gaze locked onto Gordes and its head quirked to the side, the thing making something of a croaking sound as it loomed. The blond man coughed a few times and cleared his throat as he tried to puff himself back up, despite the fact that his face had rapidly lost colour. The man bobbed his head a bit as he adjusted his collar, and wheezed, “Blackmore, what exactly are you trying to achieve here?”

The figure stared at him, gaze piercing as it hunched forward, appendages that were a fusion of talons and claws wriggling a bit as if considering what to do with them. Its beak clattered a bit, and croaked, “Rawk, this pointless farce is to be terminated post haste, Gordes Musik.”

Gordolf attempted to puff himself up again in the face of Blackmore’s order. “Th-that homunculus is necessary for the plans of the Black Faction, he’s to be a component in Caster’s Noble Phantasm—”

“ScraaAaAaaaAaaw!”

The screech that the figure unleashed was fierce enough to launch a spray of spittle and phlegm all over Gordes’ front. It took another step forward, as it continued, its beak open. “If Caster’s Noble Phantasm requires components and such be gathered, then Darnic and the rest of the Black Faction should have gathered them before the War! CAAAAAW! He had _sixty_ _years _to prepare, and all he did was round up a gang of misfits that he’d just as easily throw away if he thought it would benefit his gaining the Grail, the unenlightened mudman!”

The Master of Saber of Black stumbled back and away, but the corvine man took another step and held his arms wide as he gestured at the homunculus, screeching, “You, your son, the Forvedges, that dumb bitch Celenike, that autistic golem kid, Darnic would  _ literally  _ throw you all to the flames if he thought it would get him a step closer to the Grail. This homunculus today, your son tomorrow! If he had the forethought to actually plan for the Grail War, he’d have won the first day!”

When Trent mentioned Gordolf, the older man’s eyes widened and his hands clenched into fists, his eyes filling with fear and rage.

Blackmore shuddered a bit and then reached out, his taloned fingers floating beneath Gordes’s nose. “RAWK! Did you grow this Hitler-stache to impress Darnic? Because it didn’t work for  _ shit!” _ With that, he dragged his talon across Musik’s upper lip, shearing the hair from it. The large man flinched and one of his hands came up to brush where his moustache had been, coming away with a small trace of blood.

The birdman then waved his arm back to the homunculus, and shrieked, “Not only that, but do you expect Ruler, a literal Saint, to actually just think that using what she would classify as an uninvolved bystander to fuel a Noble Phantasm is alright? Do you honestly think that?!”

Before anyone could interrupt, there was a huge crash and Mordred’s armoured body slammed into the clearing, her body ragdolling to the ground. Trent looked over at her and remarked, “You didn’t watch out for his Noble Phantasm, like I warned you to?”

“Shut up, bird bastard,” she replied as she got up, Clarent held loosely in one hand, most likely grimacing something fierce under her helmet.

As she readied her sword and started to head the way she came, Saber of Black stepped into the clearing, his handsome face set in a stoic mask. He moved to stand beside his Master, the Musik man swelling up with his Servant there to support him. Gordolf cleared his throat and barked, “Saber, grab the homunculus, and let’s return to the castle!”

While Siegfried moved to retrieve the homunculus and Mordred readied herself to try and hold him off, Blackmore quietly inquired, “Dragging an innocent boy to get sacrificed, at the behest of a lord…do you feel like a hero yet?”

The Saber flinched back as if struck, his face twisting in surprise. His mouth opening in shock when faced with those words. Before he could respond, Trent continued to drive the knife deeper. “Would you really be able to make your wish if you willingly sacrificed someone so callously?” Blackmore shook his head, his crimson eyes locked on to Siegfried as he clapped lightly, talons clicking against each other loudly. “My, my, what a hero!”

“Hey!” Astolfo interrupted, causing everyone to look to him. “I hate to admit it, but the bird demon kind of has a point! It’s like how heroes share their meat with everyone, and the birdy boy’s trying to explain it, but Saber, you’re trying to make the homunculus meat to catch the birds in the bush! That’s just not how being a hero works!”

No one had anything to say to that, the complete nonsense that the Rider had spouted managing to silence the clearing. Trent shook his head, coughed, then said, “Thank you for your support, Rider. I have no idea what you said, but I’m sure it made sense to you.”

“Not a lick!” Astolfo cheered happily, hands placed firmly on his hips.

Before anyone could react further, Siegfried wrapped his arms around Gordes’ neck, pulling him into a tight headlock. The blond man tried to struggle against the hold, slapping at the arms choking him out. When the Master was unconscious, Saber of Black nodded to them, his face set in a solemn look as he said, “Take the boy and go, please.”

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Trent wrapped a taloned hand around the arm of the homunculus and hoisted him over his shoulder. Nodding his head a bit, his eyes crinkling at the corners, Trent remarked, “Looks like you got some hero in you after all. See you around, Saber of Black.”

He then walked into the darkness of the forest, leaving the clearing behind. Noticing that Mordred wasn’t following him, he shook his head a bit, remembering that admitting his alliance with her would end badly for him.

-x-x-x-

Kairi took a puff of his cigarette as he leaned against a tree. Johan stood a few meters away, clear of the smoke zone. While Trent was off traumatizing people as an “enlightened birdman” and Mordred was off making sure Seigfried didn’t interfere with said traumatizing, Johan, Kairi, and Jekyll were playing mission control...which had thus far amounted to precisely jack and squat.

Johan wasn’t complaining, though. If one of Trent’s plans actually went off without a hitch for a change, that would be nothing short of a miracle.

Of course, _ that _ was when a green blur was launched across the small clearing, impacting a nearby tree with a crunching noise. Even as Jekyll faded into view in front of his Master and Kairi unslung his shotgun, Johan’s eyes fixed on the figure.

Golden cat ears folded back against flaxen hair fading to green. An ornate black bow was held at the ready, an arrow already nocked and pointing away into the forest from whence its wielder came. Booted feet maintained an impossible vertical grip on the tree as Archer of Red glanced between the three of them and immediately dismissed them as threats. The Chaste Huntress’ leonine gaze pierced the forest, seeking a target none of the rest of them could see.

Well, until that target barreled into the clearing as well. The new Servant’s eyes were concealed behind her reddish-pink hair, but the way her mouth was pulled into a vicious grimace told all that needed to be known about her mood.

As Berserker of Black rocketed towards Atalante, lightning-rod-mace pulled back for a blow, a trio of arrows sprouted from her body; two in her leading shoulder and one in the meat of her side. A fourth arrow ricocheted off of the bronze spike arcing up from her forehead, and then Frankenstein’s Monster was on top of her prey.

All of this had happened in the span of something like four seconds, and as the two opposing Servants rejoined combat, Kairi grabbed Johan by the back of his hoodie, threw him over his shoulder, and hauled ass away from the impending battleground. 

Johan, for his part, felt more than saw Jekyll’s reluctance to leave Fran to fight Atalante alone, and quickly made a decision. Probably a bad one, in hindsight, but he made it all the same.

_ ‘You can support her if you want, Doctor. If we run into trouble, we have our Command Seals.’ _

Jekyll glanced back at Johan, and gave a sharp nod, hand fishing in his pocket for  _ that  _ vial. As lava filled Johan’s circuits, Berserker quaffed his Noble Phantasm. Instantly the lava became  _ plasma _ , and Jekyll’s flesh  _ burst _ .

As the duo passed out of sight of the battlefield, the last thing Johan saw was the hulking, black-furred form of Edward Hyde falling upon a shocked Atalante, claws flashing.

After running for a couple minutes, Kairi slung Johan off of his shoulder and tossed him onto the ground. Before the albino could even rise from where he’d been dumped, the older man spun and raised his gun, pointing into the shadows of the forest.

“Come out with your hands up,” Kairi said gruffly, his empty hand fidgeting with a pouch at his belt. Quickly, the people he’d addressed complied, though probably not how the scarred mercenary had anticipated.

First to exit the forest was a brunette woman with a kind face marred by a frown. Of more note, of course, were the four mechanical arms seemingly sprouting from her back. Two of them were planted firmly on the ground, acting in lieu of her non-functional legs, while the other two were raised, as requested. The ominous glow emitting from the left arm and the shimmering energy blade sprouting from the right went a bit against the spirit of the request, though.

Behind Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillenia stood a brunet, bespectacled boy, his features quite similar to Fiore’s. Caules Forvedge Yggdmillenia was a nervous looking boy, Johan observed from his prone position. Understandable, really; Johan wasn’t exactly having a great time being in combat situations himself.

As hardened mercenary stared down protective older sister, the silence grew tense. Wind stilled, leaves froze, the hairs on the back of every present neck reached for the sky…

And into that silence, Johan voiced a sound that was meant to be a throat-clearing cough but sounded more like a toad swallowing a particularly disagreeable brick.

_ “...Parley?” _


	9. Chapter 9: Johan Spills His Spaghetti All Over A Katawa Shoujo

Chapter 9: Johan Spills His Spaghetti All Over A  _ Katawa Shoujo _

As three pairs of eyes (well, two and a pair of shades) turned to him, Johan struggled to his feet. He rubbed the back of his neck, which was sore from the none-too-gentle landing he’d just experienced. “You’re Fiore and Caules Forvedge, yes?” He knew the answer, but he was struggling, dammit!

“Indeed,” Fiore responded in a calm, albeit guarded manner. “And you are?”

“Johan, one of the members of the White Faction.” He scratched his head. “Kinda wish we’d have met under better circumstances, but when do things ever go according to plan?”

Fiore blinked. “So, that letter was your doing, then?” The glow started to fade from her robot limbs, but did not dissipate entirely. She frowned at him. “I must confess, there was...sensitive information in that letter I am not quite sure how you found, but that can wait for later.”

In the distance, a sound somewhere between a roar and a howl echoed, followed by the crash of what sounded to be a tree falling. The Forvedges started and stared into the forest. 

“Don’t mind Berserker,” Johan said dryly. “He’s just helping out  _ your _ Berserker, young man.”

At that, Caules’ head snapped around, an almost desperate look on his face. “Is it true? Can you really heal my sister’s legs, like your letter said?”

“Caules!” Fiore reprimanded, an embarrassed look on her face.

“Me?” Johan asked rhetorically. “No. My Servant, on the other hand, has my fullest confidence.”

It was at that point that a crow swooped down from the heavens and screeched, “SCRAW! I’ve successfully acquired cardboard!”

Johan glanced up at Trent’s familiar. “Good to hear. Angriest Cat got attacked by Fran and Berserker is backing Fran up. As you can see, the Forvedges have encountered us. Do hurry back, would you? The less time we spend in a literal warzone, the better.”

“Yeah, well I got one hell of a paper weight that I’m lugging around over my shoulder, so it’ll be a bit, caaaw!” the familiar crowed before exploding in a shower of feathers, which then burnt up before hitting anyone.

Johan sighed, before turning back towards Fiore and Caules. “And  _ that _ would be the dubious personage known as Trent Blackmore, though I’m sure you’ve experienced his handiwork before.”

Fiore looked as though she was trying  _ very _ hard not to laugh; probably remembering how Trent had first verbally then  _ literally _ shat on Darnic. “A-ahem. Yes, his familiars have visited Castle Yggdmillenia before. He is...quite the memorable individual.”

Kairi let out a harsh chuckle, his gun gone from his hand and secreted away in his coat. “That’s puttin’ it lightly. That boy ain’t right.”

It was at that moment that Mordred stomped out of the woods, Trent still in birdman form slung over her shoulder, with the homunculus slung over his shoulders in some bizzare fireman’s pyramid. The Saber looked at her Master and the small gathering and explained, “Bird Bastard was going too slow.”

“Hey, I’m lugging an entire person, and  _ I’m _ not superhuman; cut me some slack with that sword of yours,” Blackmore complained lightly from over her shoulder. He then remarked, “If you weren’t wearing armour I’d spa—and the blood going to my head is a definite problem now.”

Johan sighed. If this had been a sitcom, he was  _ sure _ that this would’ve been the moment the  _ Seinfeld _ theme would’ve played alongside a laugh track. As it was, they sort of just stood around awkwardly. Mordred then dropped Blackmore on his head, garnering a squawk as he flopped down atop the homunculus, who just groaned quietly.

Lifting his hand up, the birdman declared, “I’ll admit, I deserved that.”

“Don’t you always?” Johan asked rhetorically. Meanwhile, Caules and Fiore were too busy staring in horror and not a small amount of disgust at the bird-headed monstrosity that Trent had become.

Kairi, for his part, merely pulled out a cigarette and fumbled with a lighter, nearly dropping it when another eerie howl echoed from the distance, this one carrying a tinge of frustration. Johan winced as the fire in his circuits flared briefly to lava levels once more, before petering off altogether. Trent himself shuddered as he picked himself off the ground, his feathers doing an odd dance across his flesh that he really wasn’t fond of.

Pulling a vial out of his pocket and popping the top off, he toasted at the others as he threw it back. The change was sudden and somewhat shocking as the feathers all but fell out of his skin, leaving behind tender gooseflesh as the beak concealing his mouth fell off his face. Blinking a few times, red turned back to blue and the blond grimaced as he remarked, “Tastes awful, but damn if the good doctor doesn’t work miracles.”

“If you care,” Carmilla flatly remarked as she strolled out of the woods, sunglasses still on despite the fact that it was night and clad in casual clothing, “the Archer of Red has been picked up by their Rider and they’ve fled. This might be the best chance to retreat.”

Fiore’s eyes snapped to Carmilla as she spoke, arms crossed as she processed all the information that was being presented. Caules, for his part, looked somewhat overwhelmed by all of the things happening in rapid succession.

Of course, that was the moment when Frankenstein’s Monster jogged into the clearing, bodily carrying Dr. Jekyll like a blushing bride. At that point, Caules decided that maybe it would be best to stop thinking for a while. Seeing the look of utter bewilderment on the young man’s face, Trent nodded sadly in understanding as he commiserated, “Sometimes, it just be like that on this bitch of an Earth.”

Johan nodded in agreement, looking at both Berserkers with a complicated, constipated expression on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a brunet man wearing vaguely Grecian white and brown armor and carrying a bow emerge from the forest beside Fiore. Archer of Black, known by the name Chiron in life, bent to speak softly in his Master’s ear. As he did so, the straw-like hair of his horse tail swished into view briefly.

Johan glanced around the clearing awkwardly, then coughed loudly. “Ssssso...shall we go somewhere that  _ isn’t _ a warzone and discuss our prospects of alliance…?” He was talking to Fiore and Caules, but it was less awkward to talk to the entire clearing collectively, dammit!

“Sounds like a plan to me,” the blond former birdman agreed as he rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand and keeping the homunculus standing with the other. “Although, anyone got any pain meds? My neck’s killing me.”

“I can make something,” Jekyll offered, still gripped in Fran’s powerful arms, “though my lab is running low on reagents. Once I have made my elixir for Miss Forvedge, I shall require new stock if my alchemy is to be of any measurable use...other than the acid Assassin procured, of course.”

Johan rubbed his jaw. “Not sure where we’d get stuff like that out here...might have to rob Caster of Black’s lab if we get the chance.” He frowned. “We’ll figure something out; let’s just head back to base for now.”

“But all Caster of Black’s lab will have is rocks…Or little kid bits if we get there after he kills his Master,” Trent interjected, clearly having no idea as to what went into the making of golems.

“After he does  _ what?! _ ” Fiore not so much  _ asked  _ as  _ demanded _ , face pale and full of concern.

The blond shrugged. “Well, this homunculus here,” he began, hefting the person in question, “is the one who Caster of Black views as the ideal candidate for a heart he can sacrifice to power his Noble Phantasm. After the homunculus is his own Master, who trusts Caster of Black implicitly, even though he really shouldn’t.”

Still pale-faced, Fiore retorted, “Suppose I believe you. What evidence do you have to back your claim? Caster of Black seemed distant, true. But to sacrifice Roche?” Fiore frowned. “That...that  _ would  _ be an utterly Magus thing to do, wouldn’t it?” Her rhetorical question was as bitter as it was sad.

“The hilarious thing? After doing it and seeing his creation, he’ll regret it immensely to the point where it literally scars his Saint Graph. He’ll mourn it and hate himself for it, to the point of wishing that he could somehow stop himself from doing it,” Trent explained, his face twisting into an ugly scowl. “And then, he’ll help fight a mammoth railgun grown from Ivan the Terrible’s feet, but that’s another story entirely.”

Fiore blinked slowly, then replied, “If I pretend that I have half an idea what you’re talking about, can we go somewhere further from Castle Yggdmillenia?”

Trent nodded, “Let’s head to Bone Daddy’s Crypt.”

The stares he got were more than worth it for the slap upside the head he received from Carmilla.

-x-x-x-

Once the now-larger, but no less motley, crew returned to their base of operations (and Caules managed to coax Fran into setting Jekyll down), Johan and the good doctor showed Fiore to the alchemy lab. Trent stopped by briefly and was given a small vial of painkillers and sent on his way. Johan offered Fiore a chair, but she opted to remain supported by her Bronze-Link Manipulators, so Johan plopped down in it instead.

An awkward silence filled the room, only interrupted by the clinking of vials and a dry cough here and there courtesy of Johan, who was very busy studying the ceiling, trying (and failing) to conceal his perturbation. 

After a while, though, the awkwardness must’ve become too much to bear, and Fiore spoke, her tone conversational. “So, Mister...Johan, was it?” 

Johan snapped upright in his chair, overbalanced, and nearly fell onto the floor. After righting himself in the seat and loosening his collar (had it gotten hotter in the room, or was that just the burning humiliation?), he answered, “Y-yes, Miss Forvedge?”

Fiore smiled faintly, which did  _ not _ help Johan’s nervousness in the slightest. “I do not mean to pry, but once we came in here, you began acting...well, ‘oddly’ would be putting it lightly. Is there something wrong? Have I committed some past offence upon you that I have failed to recall?”

Johan’s eye twitched. “N-no, no. Nothing like that,” he practically stammered, meeting her eyes then glancing away, pale face flushed. “It’s, it’s...it’s nothing. Nothing you n-need to worry about.”

Fiore frowned and opened her mouth to retort, but what miserable scraps that were left of Johan’s dignity were saved by Jekyll spinning to face the duo, a faintly smoking phial in his hands.

“I have created it!” he proclaimed, a vaguely manic gleam in his eyes, before realizing that he had an audience. He blushed and coughed into his fist, before proffering the vial. “A-anyways, Miss Forvedge. Drink this. There will be pain, but it will not last long.”

Fiore nodded, accepting the medicine and tossing it back in one motion. She shuddered, and her face reddened and screwed up against the pain. Bright, cog-like lines flashed along her legs as she let out a pained grunt, her entire body tensing for a brief moment...and then she slumped to the floor, her magic Doctor Octopus arms powering down due to the forcible realignment of her Magic Circuits.

After a moment, she stirred, and then let out a gasp. “I...I can feel them. I can feel my  _ legs _ !” With her exclamation, she shot to her feet, joyous tears in her eyes...and promptly toppled forward, her legs unused to carrying her. Johan and Jekyll both moved to catch her, and the three collided and fell into a heap of limbs.

Of course, this development did Johan’s awkwardness no favors, but then the final hit to his mangled dignity came. 

Fiore wrapped one arm each around Jekyll and Johan’s shoulders, thanking them profusely with tears in her eyes.

It was a critical hit, and Johan’s shattered dignity was mercilessly slaughtered.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Meanwhile, Trent sat outside, nursing a bottle of iced tea that he’d picked up from Trifas earlier, silent despite the fact that Mordred was leaning against the entrance to the crypt, pointedly ignoring him. The blond took a sip of his drink as he tried to figure out just what he was going to say before deciding to do as he always did and bull ahead.

“You know, when we first discussing things in the crypt, what I said was meant to be an olive branch,” he admitted, not watching for her reaction.

What he got in answer from the knight was a snort, “The hell’re you on about? Even you’ve admitted that you like insulting people.”

“And, to be honest, I do. I’m rude, crass, blunt, and an all around asshole, but I admit it. However, what I said was meant to be an olive branch to you, in my own hamfisted and bullheaded way,” Trent explained as he looked down at the odd tea he was drinking, unsure of the flavour.

Mordred’s hand entered his vision and clawed around his collar, pulling him around to face her. Her green eyes were laser focused as she glared down at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “So what? You think that you can just say all this and just brush it all off?”

“No, just figured that I’d at least explain to you as to what I was trying to do,” Trent said with a shrug and took another swig of his drink. “I’m a simple man, figured I might as well try and mend this fence that I managed to break almost instantly.”

“Tch, you’re still a bastard,” the Knight of Treachery opined as she let him go, and then walked back into the crypt, leaving him alone in the night air.

The blond hummed a little as he looked up at the night sky, and shrugged. “Well, she’s not wrong.”

“Quite,” Carmilla agreed as she walked up beside him, spooking Trent and making him drop his iced tea. Looking between her and his spilled drink in sadness, she gave him a patronizing pat on the head as she remarked, “I’m honestly rather impressed that you went out of your way for that, seeing as you usually just open your mouth and don’t stop any of the insults you’re slinging.”

“I’m an asshole, Carmilla, not completely stupid,” the blond retorted as he picked up the bottle and got ready to get rid of the waste. “She deserved to at least know that I meant no harm, even if she didn’t take it too well.”

“Honestly, keep up like this Master, and you might just impress me one of these days,” the Assassin remarked dryly as she left him to his business, Trent watching her sashay away.

The blond shook his head.

“Can’t do nothing without catching shit, can I?”

No, he couldn’t.


	10. Chapter 10: The Gang Plans To Drop Acid

Chapter 10: The Gang Plans To Drop Acid

Trent looked awkwardly at the homunculus who had joined him outside the crypt, leaning against the entrance as he stared up at the stars. The young looking lad let out a quiet groan as he asked, “What should I even do?”

“That depends on you, kid,” the blond advised as he moved from leaning against the wall to a squat, turning his own gaze to the heavens. “You got all your life to figure it out and do it.”

“And I only have a year to live! What can even do in that time? It’s just so… _ little!” _ shouted the ashen-haired homunculus, his red eyes shimmering as he tried to rage at the arbitrary time limit tacked onto his life.

The Canuck shrugged as he pushed himself to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That’s just how things are on this bitch of an Earth. We live and then we die, every day passes before we even realize it, with the events seeming so menial and pointless. It’s why you need to do what you want to in life, so that you don’t die while regretting things.”

“That’s…no, there has to be something more! My comrades didn’t die for some humans with no point to their lives!” The homunculus rounded on Trent, tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes as he glared at the blond.

“Kid, I can’t tell you anything that will make you feel better about their deaths.” Trent could only shrug in the face of the homunculus’s impotent rage. “Anything I say would be an empty platitude that would just make you feel worse. The only thing you can do is live on and find what you want to do with the time you have.”

“How does that help! There’s… I have no idea what to do! No idea where I should go!” The homunculus was shaking, his hands balled into fists as he roared.

There was nothing more that Trent could do other than shake his head. “Of course it doesn’t help. You’re grieving the loss of so many of those you empathized with, and you’re struggling to find your path in the world. You’re faced with two of the worst things for humans to deal with: existential angst and the loss of what was your family.”

“Damn it…” was all the homunculus said as he weakly punched the wall beside him, making almost no noise as his fist hit it.

Rather than try and help where he’d most likely hurt, Trent turned towards the crypt and moved to head back in. He called over to the homunculus, “It might be unilateral on my part, but feel free to stick with us until you figure out what you’re going to do. I don’t think anyone would complain.” He went to turn away again and stopped, letting out a sigh.

“Kid, listen. The world’s going to be your oyster once we get things figured out and squared away here, and you’ll have until the end of your days to explore it and live as you’d like. We’ve got one of the most ridiculous alchemists in history on our side, to the point that he’s got a pretty good shot at extending your lifespan to that of a normal human. Will the road be bumpy? Of course it will, that’s just how life is on this bitch of an Earth, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone. You got us now, for however much that counts.”

With that said, Trent ambled into the crypt, wondering whether or not any of the others would be able to help the homunculus with his problems. As he headed into the darkness, a realization came to him.

“We still haven’t figured out a name for the kid…”

-x-x-x-x-x-

After freeing himself from the tangle of limbs, Johan helped Fiore to her feet as well, his face still flushed with embarrassment. Jekyll, for his part, rose with quiet grace and set about cleaning up his makeshift lab.

“You’ll need to make a habit of walking, so that your body can get used to balancing on its own,” Jekyll remarked over his shoulder as he bustled about, vials and beakers clacking together. “My tonic will minimize the effects of atrophy, but the sooner you acclimate your legs to the task, the sooner you will be able to walk as though you were born to it.”

Fiore wobbled on her feet, then straightened with a determined look on her face. “Thank you, Berserker of...White?” She cocked her head to one side.

The good doctor chuckled. “Please. ‘Jekyll’ is fine, at least while we are among allies.”

By this time, Johan had recovered himself enough to interject, “Speaking of allies, we probably ought to actually discuss the details of our alliance. If you’d call your brother, and I can find-”

It was at that point that Trent walked in, looking vaguely unhappy, but it was his usual grimace. “How’s it hanging, party people?”

Johan blinked. “Well, I was actually about to go look for you and Bone Daddy so we could talk about the alliance with them,” he said, jerking his head at Fiore, “but since you’re here, I guess I only need to find him.”

“Sounds about right, I just got done trying to help the homunculus but instead just hurt him more,” the blond answered with a sad shrug. “Story of my life, try and help and then screw things up.”

Johan winced, and raised a hand, thought better of it, then cleared his throat. “Well...chin up?”

“Yes, well…” Trent cleared his throat, cracking one of his knuckles with his thumb. “I suppose that what we need to do is discuss just how we’re going to go forward from here, once Mister Shishigou arrives.”

Johan nodded, turning towards the entrance Trent had just come through. “I’ll go find him, then.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

Trent looked around at the gathered group, the Masters all eyeing each other warily while their Servants stood at the ready. Deciding that it was time to break the ice, he stood up and declared, “So, guys, I think the first thing to be clarified is the ease with which we can neutralize the remaining enemy Servants, something that I think I’ve got figured out. Any questions so far?”

“I’m more surprised that you actually managed to figure out anything other than how to piss people off,” Mordred rattled from behind Kairi, arms crossed as she attempted to appear imposing.

“Unlike you, I’m capable of a lot of deep thoughts. It’s part of being a functioning adult; Mister Shishigou can give you lessons after you get your driver’s license,” the blond retorted as he gave the armoured knight a minor stink eye. Standing up straight, he let his face fall into a more serious expression. “Now, to put it simply, we’ll have the easiest time neutralizing Rider of Black, as we can simply kill off that dumb bitch Celenike and transfer the contract over to the kid.”

Trent gestured towards the entrance, where the homunculus was still agonizing over his existential dread. “After that, Archer of Red would be the easiest as we can either have her assassinated or trick her into going after the Black Faction using her triggers. From there, Caster of Black would be the next most difficult to deal with, as he’s simply something of a hermit and Assassin’s modifiers don’t do well against him.” 

He looked around at the others, hoping that someone would interject or ask a question. “Then we have Saber of Black and Rider of Red, who both have weak points that can be exploited but are powerful and dangerous regardless. Finally, there’s the Lancers; Red is almost invincible until we find someway to get past his bullshit defensive Noble Phantasm, meanwhile Black has a lot of rank ups and powers due to being summoned here and getting a massive homeland bonus to pretty much everything. Any questions now?”

Kairi gave a sigh, stuck a cigarette in his mouth, and lit up. “I swear,” he muttered, “I’m going through a pack a day with you around.”

Fiore, for her part, interjected, “I have several, yes. While I understand your point about Celenike, I’d like you to go into more detail about the other things you’ve described. First things first: Archer of Red.You mentioned a trigger?”

“Correct. Archer of Red is incredibly protective of children, which we could leverage by using the danger that Roche is in due to his close association with Caster of Black.” As he explained this, Trent sat back in his seat, keeping his eyes on Fiore. “Then, we can also the fact that the two of you fled Castle Yggdmillenia as proof of the child endangerment occurring there.”

Fiore frowned at his words, then questioned, “And how is it that you know this? Know anything about  _ us _ , and our Servants for that matter? As allies, I think we at least have the right to know what you know, and how you know it.” 

“Basically, me and Johan were tossed from our home universe into yours, and we’ve got the lowdown on y’all and your Servants. Want me to go further?” the Canuck asked, brows raised in askance.

Fiore blinked once, twice, then frowned again. “If you aren’t willing to tell me, then just say so. There’s no call to insult my intelligence.”

At this, Johan interjected, “As insane and impossible as it  _ should _ be, he’s telling the truth. How else could we have known Assassin of Red was Semiramis, and her Master was the Ruler Class Servant summoned in the Third Holy Grail War,  _ who is still at large, I might add. _ ”

“Right, we’ll need to kill off Amakusa to keep him from achieving Lostbelt,” Trent nodded as he joined in, thinking about how they were going to be killing a priest. It was probably sacrilege somewhere, but that wasn’t his problem.

This time, it was Caules who spoke up. “Okay. Say we believe you. Just who and what are we dealing with, both Servant-wise and Magus-wise? We know Lancer of Black is Vlad III, Rider of Black is Astolfo, and Caster of Black is Avicebron, but Uncle Gordes wouldn’t let his Saber tell us his name.”

“You couldn’t tell who he was based off his giant glowing tattoo scar? He’s Siegfried,” the blond declared with a shrug, not thinking it was too hard to puzzle out. “…Then again, a lot of magi can be stupid about the obvious answers, so…”

An expression of consternation crossed Fiore’s face as she raised a finger, paused, and then lowered the finger and crossed her arms. “...I can’t contradict you on that,” she grumbled, “and that annoys me.”

Johan gave her a commiserating nod. “Talking to Trent tends to be like that. You’ll get used to it.”

“As for the Red squad: Archer is Atalante, Rider is Achilles as Chiron over there knows, and Lancer is Karna of the  _ Mahabharata _ ,” Trent answered succinctly, not leaving out a person. “Their sole acting Master was the Master of their Assassin, who went by Shirou Kotomine. His actual identity is Shirou Tokisada Amakusa.”

“Of particular note is Karna,” Johan added, “who has three Noble Phantasms: his armor-skin,  _ Kavacha and Kundala _ , which reduces all incoming damage to a tenth of its original potency; his laser eye,  _ Brahmastra _ , which is probably a match for the average Saber’s sword-beam; and his spear, the most dangerous one.  _ Vasavi Shakti _ , a god-killing spear that could probably blow up the entire country, along with everything and everyone in it. Which includes us, of course.”

“The unfortunate thing, is that the only way to dispel  _ Kavacha  _ and  _ Kundala _ , is to have him use his Anti-Country Noble Phantasm,” the blond decided to lay the cherry on top of their current sundae. “Real talk, he’s our biggest obstacle, if only because there’s so very few things to cause him to use  _ Vasavi Shakti. _ ”

“Now,” Johan added, “Vlad III’s  _ Kazikli Bey _ can get around his armor by virtue of materializing stakes  _ inside _ of Karna, but we can’t count on him to do what we want, so we’re gonna have to think up something ourselves.”

It was at this point that Jekyll cleared his throat. “On that front, I  _ am _ making progress with the acid that Miss Carmilla recovered from her...from Semiramis. However, acid created by Magecraft from the Age of the Gods is an  _ extremely _ volatile reagent, so great care must be taken during the refining process. All the activity of late has rather limited my ability to devote time to it, as one would expect of a Grail War.” Jekyll spread his hands. “Nonetheless, I shall endeavor to complete the…” Jekyll shot a  _ look _ at Trent, before continuing, “...The ‘Blueneck Butter’, as Mister Blackmore  _ insists _ we call it.”

Johan snorted, but didn’t say anything.

“Y’all’re just jealous you didn’t come up with it first." Trent pouted, even though he also found the name a bit corny.

“Naming sense aside, I think we’ve gotten a bit off-track,” Johan commented. “There’s one more point I think we need to cover: what happens when the other Servants are gone?”

The silence following his words threatened to become cloying, so he barreled on ahead. “Now, both Trent and I have forfeited our right to the Grail due to finding Mr. Shishigou’s wish more ethical than using it for our own gain, and the Doctor’s wish is for Incarnation, which can be done by other means, if Trent’s knowledge is to be believed. As for Assassin…” He trailed off, looking to Trent to explain further.

The blond looked to the Assassin, mentally saying that she has the option of speaking up for herself, or letting him explain in his usual fashion. The silver haired vampiress cleared her throat almost immediately. "... While I’ll admit that I’d be tempted to wish for eternal youth, it’s far more tempting to be given the chance to live an incarnated life while knowing properly the distinction between evil and good actions.”

“Which can be accomplished through the same means that I mentioned to Johan and the Doc. By the by, did you know that if you use all three Command Seals to order a Servant to incarnate it works? Fuckin wild, that Proto shit is,” Trent declared in his usual idiom as he looked at the others. “So, what about you kids?”

Caules shrugged. “I just joined this war to support my sister. And Fran, well—”

_ “Hmm-hmm!” _

“She just wants to stick with the Doctor, so Incarnation as well, I guess.”

Fiore smiled. “As for me, as I’m sure you are aware,  _ my _ wish has already been granted, thanks to Berserker of Red. As for Archer…”

Chiron stepped from where he had stood, behind Fiore. “My wish is to have my immortality returned to me, which I assume is beyond the capabilities of the Command Seals.”

"I mean…” Johan glanced at Trent, then back to Chiron. “Probably? I don’t pretend to be the guy who made the things, but I figure if the things could give immortality, he’d have just figured out a way to use them on himself instead of becoming a man-eating bug lich.”

“Honestly, I don’t really know of any way we’d be able finagle that, other than just keeping you around as a familiar and passing the contract off to agreeable people. Pseudo-immortality, as it were,” Trent said as he scratched at his chin, unable to quite figure out how to help Chiron. “Honestly, the only way we’d really be able to do it would be if we had access to Hades’s nanomachines, and we certainly don’t…”

Chiron shook his head. “The immortality itself is not the point: that is not what I miss about the blessing of the gods. What I desire from blessing’s return is the connection to my parents that it provides, nothing more. And that is something I doubt anything less than the omnipotent wish granting power of the Grail can provide.”

At Chiron’s mention of “parents” Mordred twitched, then got to her feet. “Feh, whatever. What about my wish, huh? You all just gonna ignore me here or something?”

“Mordred,” Trent said, drawing all eyes to him as he looked at the armoured Saber. “I understand the reasoning behind your wish, and why you feel it’s necessary, but I’m going to keep it real with you. When you talked with Artoria, and she refused to pass Excalibur to you, it wasn’t because of any fault with you. She had come to find herself unworthy of being king, it wasn’t out of hatred, or spite towards you. Artoria literally had no idea how to react to your very existence.”

There was a flash of silver as the knight darted across the room and hauled Trent into the air by his collar, fury burning in her eyes. “Then why the Hell did everything go the way it did?! Where the Hell do you get off knowing all this! Why do I have to be the one who had to endure all that!”

As this was going on, Fiore and Caules looked on in surprise and horror. Fran growled, baring her fangs as she leaned forward. Johan sighed, and pinched his brow. “Don’t get too worked up; this is pretty much the norm for the two of them. Frankly, they were probably overdue for another one of these by now.”

“Because Morgan was a skank who didn’t actually grow as person until around the reign of Charlemagne,” Trent croaked from where he was hanging, already entirely too used to being manhandled. “Seriously, Mordred, you’re not a bad person, you were just caught in the middle of a shitty situation between a super spiteful painted jezebel and her emotionally and mentally traumatized sister who didn’t learn how to people properly.”

Mordred’s helm split away, revealing her face twisted into a furious scowl as she barked, “And what the Hell am I supposed to do with that? What the Hell is my wish supposed to be if doesn’t mean shit?!”

“Why not live on in this time? Find what you want to do in this world and do that to spite Morgan?” the blond asked, letting his legs hang while trying to keep from kicking them.

“Bastard…” the shorter blonde growled as she let Trent drop, stomping back to stand by Kairi.

Carefully, checking to see if his collar was stretched, Trent looked around the group and asked, “Any other business?”

Johan coughed into his fist, then looked to Chiron. “Actually…”

-x-x-x-x-x-

In the dead of night, an arrow blasted through one of the Trifas Church’s windows, slamming down into the mattress right beside the head of the person occupying it.

Atalante, both annoyed and confused by this development, pulled the arrow out and stared at the letter tied around the arrow’s shaft. Nose scrunched in annoyance, she untied it and quickly scanned it, her brow furrowing as she read it.

The paper crumpled in her hand as her eyes blazed with fury.

“ _ I’ll kill him for targeting a child!” _


	11. Interlude: Huntress and Snare

Interlude: Huntress and Snare

Castle Yggdmillenia was all but surrounded by a lush, verdant forest, populated by alders and firs, poplars and oaks. The way the leaves swayed in the night wind, were one to observe it from above, was reminiscent of the wind-chopped waves of an ocean; a veritable sea of trees. A single side of the Castle was bare of foliage, flanked as it was by a sheer cliff, but all this did was enhance the impression of Castle Yggdmillenia being an island, a lighthouse of civility and class in nature’s oceanic grasp.

Of course, the image projected by those austere walls was a laughable farce, but any normal person who got close enough to learn this was long condemned to an unsightly fate.

The person observing Castle Yggdmillenia now, however, was far from normal. And indeed, she was already keenly aware of the sins perpetrated within the castle...or at least the ones that mattered to  _ her _ .

The branches of a tall and venerable tree swayed, as though disturbed by a strong wind. The Chaste Huntress, Atalante, bounded through the boughs with feline grace, Tauropolos readied in her hand.

_ ‘Caster of Black...I won’t let you sacrifice a child for your own arrogance!’ _ Her eyes were green fire, the golden lion ears atop her head were pulled flat against her scalp, and the equally golden lion’s tail sprouting from the base of her spine lashed about in agitation.

No mistakes about it, Archer of Red was  _ livid _ . Indeed, only the fact that Caster of Black had not yet sacrificed his Master prevented her from unleashing her second Noble Phantasm.

The letter that Archer of Black had sent was graphic and explicit in the real and present dangers to the child remaining in the depths of Castle Yggdmillenia. The emotion and fear that the two Masters of Yggdmillenia had managed to transcribe into their letter had tugged at her heartstrings while setting her instincts alight. They had no manner of saving the child as they were due to their position within the Yggdmillenia at the time, but her…

She could  _ not  _ sit idly by while a child was endangered, even if they were a Master of the enemy faction.

And so she surged from the treeline, low to the ground and weaving through the grass between the treeline and the castle. Almost immediately after she crossed the boundary, the ground began to rumble. What had previously appeared to be decoratively arranged, moss-covered boulders were quickly shown to be camouflaged golems, their forms unfolding as they moved to attack the Archer.

Several lumbered forward and swung their bulky limbs at Atalante, while others slumped down and fired volleys of stone shards from their backs at her. The Chaste Huntress danced between the onslaught of attacks, planting arrow after arrow into each of the golems as she avoided their every strike with effortless grace. Each arrow bit deep into the stone, rupturing the dense crystal of their cores and causing them to shut down. 

In a span of seconds, two score golems had crumbled into nothing more than rock and moss, and as Atalante continued her inexorable advance, more and more constructs joined the fray, and more and more fell to her arrows. Were she not so focused on reaching the castle, the Chaste Huntress might have noticed how the golems seemed to increase in quality as she neared it...not that this helped them in any measurable way. 

…

Unfortunately for Atalante, her keen focus also prevented her from noticing the narrowed eyes carefully following her passage towards the castle.

-x-x-x-

The metal-masked face of Caster of Black, Avicebron, snapped up as a female figure crashed through a high window and landed in the midst of his lab. The bow clenched in her hand marked her as the Archer of the Red faction, and doubtless the reason for scores of his sentinel golems becoming inactive in the past half a minute or so. Even as he backed away from his table, he waved forward a half dozen of his finest golems, wrought not of stone but of magic crystal. “Archer of Red, your act of disturbing me is…an annoyance. I’m in the middle of incredibly delicate but vital work.”

The man waved imperiously towards the table before him, upon which rested a great hand of some sort, inanimate like the rest of the giant that it was attached to. His eyeless gaze bored into her as he continued, “More than that, your assault could very well awaken my master. While his enthusiasm towards golemcraft is exemplary, he has all the excitability of an undisciplined child.”

_ “That is because he  _ is  _ a child, you despicable creature!” _ Atalante roared, loosing a trio of arrows in his direction, which were blasted out of the air by beams of condensed mana. “Do not pretend to care about him; I know what you are willing to do, what lines you are willing to cross in the name of your precious craft!” hissed the Archer, springing forward even as she strung and loosed another arrow.

Turning his head back to his work, Avicebron’s fingers clicked as they danced about the back of the hand. His head quirked to the side as he continued, “Children are to be seen, not heard, Archer of Red. More than that, my work here is necessary. To drag humanity from its sinful malaise and into Eden… Can you think of no higher calling?”

Atalante gripped her bow so hard it creaked under the strain. “If such a calling requires the sacrifice of even a single child,  _ then I’d rather consign the world to Tartarus!” _ Her voice started as a growl and ended as a feral scream, her mana darkening with each passing moment as it flared wildly around her.

_ “Noble Phantasm: Agrius Metamorphosis!” _

A dark light flowed over her body, and when it cleared, Atalante was changed. Her skin and hair had paled considerably, and her green gown had vanished, replaced by a furred covering that would have been skimpy, were it not growing out of her flesh. Her hands and feet, in particular, were changed, becoming clawed and hooved, respectively. Finally and most distinctively, a boar’s head was mounted on her right shoulder, violet runes gleaming on its flesh.

In the next instant, she exploded into motion, the ground shattering beneath her cloven hooves. In the span of a second, two of Avicebron’s golems were shattered against the ground, and one more was launched at its master by a two-hoofed kick. The thrown golem was caught by another of its kin, even as the Caster turned to look at Atalante properly.

“Fascinating. A spirit core and Saint Graph capable of rapid and fluid transmutation between Servant classes, exactly the sort of material that would be useful for perfecting Adam. While my Master’s magic circuits, or those of that homunculus would be wonderful for its completion, your spirit core would be an interesting variable as well.”

If Atalante registered anything that Avicebron said, it was the implication that a child’s safety was in danger. Of course, under the effects of the Boar of Divine Punishment’s madness as she was, this only served to spur her on even more. He legs coiled beneath her, and the next second, she exploded  _ through _ both of the golems, tearing through the air towards Caster claws-first. _ “CASTER!” _

As she careened through the air towards him, a new voice cut through the din of battle. “Atalante, by the power of all three Command Seals, I order you to carve out your spirit core and present it to Caster of Black.”

The Archer’s arm slammed through her chest in an explosion of gore, her face twisting in confusion and betrayal as her flight came to an abrupt end and she slammed into the ground, her spirit core outstretched towards Avicebron. Collapsing to her knees as blood dripped from her nose and mouth, she craned her head around to look at the source of the voice, betrayal painted on her features like the blood on her chin. She took a few hacking breathes, trying to keep herself from falling apart as she tried to drag her way towards her newfound enemy.

“Kotomine… How?  _ Why? _ ”

Atalante’s body broke down into golden flakes of light as Avicebron gently took the spirit core from her outstretched hand, scrutinizing it quietly as he made a satisfied noise.

Standing almost nonchalantly amongst the menacing golems was the one who had ordered Atalante to commit suicide, the man who had taken control of the Red Faction, Shirou Tokisada Amakusa.

He was harried and tired, his hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled, looking very much like he was on the verge of collapsing. Despite all that, the incarnated Ruler was smiling at Avicebron.

“You too, are a man of the Lord, who seeks to bring his glory unto this sinful world. With the miracles granted unto me by the Lord, and the golem you’re creating, we’ll pull humanity from this mire of sin that they’ve fallen into.”

The Caster eyed him for a few moments before holding it up to mimic a toast as he replied, “A fellow man of the Lord, in search of bringing about Eden…yes, I believe that you and I will have a fruitful relationship.”

At that moment, a small blond boy stumbled into the room, rubbing at his eyes and looking around the damaged lab. Avicebron vaguely registered that his new conspirator had vanished, sparing him the need to explain anything to his Master.

How considerate.

Roche, after staring at the not-inconsiderable damage, asked, “What  _ happened _ , teacher?!”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Master. An enemy action was thwarted,” the masked Servant remarked as he reached out with his free hand and gently rested it atop the child’s head. A sound escaped the man’s helmet, a breathy chuckle as he gave the hair beneath his covered fingers a ruffle. “Nothing you need to worry about at all.”


	12. Interlude: Hoes Mad

Interlude: Hoes Mad

Slamming his fist down on a windowsill, Darnic Yggdmillenia fought against his own muscles as he tried to keep them from contorting into a rictus of hatred. Not only was Blackmore defiant and independant, but his antics had leeched into and infected Fiore. The girl had been the sole diamond in the rough amongst the rabble that he’d gathered under the Yggdmillenia, both talented and gifted with good magic circuits. The sole downside to having her amongst them was that she was accompanied by the trash that clung to her, and even that was mitigated by the fact that the trash was of  _ some _ use.

Now, the two had fled Castle Yggdmillenia, taking their Servants with them, leaving them during their time of need, with Caster’s Noble Phantasm incomplete.

To pile even more failures up, Gordes had failed to reclaim the homunculus that they needed for Caster’s endeavour, despite having a Servant as powerful as Siegfried on his side. He’d cited Blackmore as getting in the way, in the form of a  _ humanoid crow _ of all things.

Darnic could deal with a lot of things, but the level of utter buffoonery that he was surrounded by was driving him spare.

There was nothing he could really add about Celenike. She and her Servant had been the opposite of useful from day one, and had really only been kept around to help fill out numbers. The fact that she was one of the few pieces he had left was utterly  _ galling. _

The Grail War should have been his from day one, but every single factor seemed to be going against him. Those he was magnanimous enough to give shelter to bore their fangs against him, while the one he reached out to had decided to spit on his hand.

A firm, gloved hand laid itself on his shoulder. “Compose yourself, Darnic,” Vlad Tepes III, Prince of Wallachia directed, his face impassive. “This is nothing more than a minor setback, a delay in our plans. The Forvedges’ betrayal will not be forgiven or forgotten, but ultimately, it is immaterial. It simply means they will fall as well, in time.”

“My king, you know as well as I do that our forces are in disarray. While Caster and Roche are able to produce quality golems to supplement the homunculus army, we’ve lost a valuable asset in the form of Archer,” the magus argued, trying to pull his face back into an estimation of humility. “While you and Saber are both incredibly powerful, we can’t rely on two Servants alone, especially given the lack of use that Rider provides.”

Vlad inclined his head. “Your words have merit, Darnic, but our forces being in disarray is  _ precisely _ why you must remain composed. I may be king, but your people look to  _ you _ for leadership, guidance. You must appear to be unshaken, confident, unassailable. Even in the face of disaster you must show no doubt, for your strength, act or not, shall become their strength.”

The blue-haired Nazi shook his head, turning it down to hide the disgusted scowl on his face. “I understand, my king.” Despite saying those words, Darnic was seething internally, that a familiar of all things would dare to tell him how to deal with the Yggdmillenia. “For now though, I believe we must plan our next step, to take the situation back from our foes.”

Vlad nodded. “Indeed. Gather your subordinates and their Servants, and we shall plot our counteroffensive.”

“Of course, my king,” Darnic said as he bowed to the Lancer, his face obscured by the angle and hiding the loathing on his face. His hand pulled into a fist, the leather of his glove creaking from how tightly he’d balled his hand.

-x-x-x-

Shirou Amakusa Tokisada sat at the fore of the church, elbows resting on his knees as he had his hands steepled in front of his face. The church itself was shadowed by the lack of light, night steeping it in shades of blue and black. All of it making the fake priest appear incredibly somber.

“Honestly, this is quite a terrible turn of events,” he declared, not looking up at Karna and Achilles. “While I was unsure as to what she was doing running off like that, by the time I’d caught up to her, Archer had already died in Black territory.”

The son of Surya tilted his head to one side, his heterochromic eyes narrowing slightly at the priest’s words. “That...is regrettable. What Servant took her life? The Chaste Huntress was far from weak, after all.”

“Regrettable? That’s all you gotta say, Lancer?” the son of Peleus interjected, his face pulled into a fierce scowl. “Sis is dead, and all we know is that she ran off for some unknown reason! The hell’re we supposed to do with this? Especially considering the fact that the Black team seem to just be picking us off!”

Karna turned to face Achilles, his face blank. “I should think that what we must do is obvious, Rider. We will strike down any and every enemy without fail. The Black faction may have the advantage in numbers, but my spear’s flame is as peerless an offense as your shield is a defense.” His words were absent of conceit or ego; he merely spoke the truth as he knew it.

“Feh, I get that, the two of us are some of the most powerful Servants in the war,” Rider agreed as he leaned back against a wall. “My issue is the fact that Sis got taken out and we don’t even have a clue as to why she left base!”

“For that matter…” Amakusa stated as he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from within his cassock, holding it out for the two to see. “I found this in her room, along with an arrow that was launched through her window. From what I can tell, it was meant to goad her into attacking Caster of Black.”

Snatching the letter from the priest’s hands, Achilles’s eyes narrowed as he considered the facts and read through the letter. He didn’t quite understand it. Why would his teacher set up Atalante for death? Hell, even as he looked through the letter… “…They were hoping she’d kill Caster of Black. How the hell’d Sis lose to a  _ Caster _ ?”

“I can only surmise that it was due to her challenging a Caster within their workshop,” the false priest hedged, closing his eyes as he brought his hands back up in front of his face. “Indeed, look at what would have happened had Assassin completed the construction of her Noble Phantasm.”

Karna pursed his lips slightly, but made no comment.

Achilles crumpled the letter in his own fist, trying to figure out just what exactly was happening. The note itself seemed to be little more than a cry for help, to have someone save another Master from being preyed upon. The blond shook his head, still trying to put the puzzle together.

Keeping an eye on the two Servants, Amakusa began, “As it stands, our goals are quite simple. We need to find a way to bring Saber and Berserker back to the fold, while striking at the members of the Black Faction. At this point, our best bets would be either Assassin and their Master, or Rider, as they seem to be the most vulnerable of the opposition.”

It was at that point that the doors of the church opened, moonlight streaming in and silhouetting the figure who had entered. The faint light gave her an ethereal air despite the armour she wore, her blonde hair done in a long braid that trailed down her back. Jeanne d’Arc stared at the apocryphal saint, her blue eyes seeing through him as she declared, “Shirou Kotomine… No, Ruler of the third Fuyuki Holy Grail War, Shirou Tokisada Amakusa. You’ve made a mockery of this Grail War through your actions, and I can find nothing but cruelty behind your having Atalante sacrifice herself to offer her Spirit Core to Caster of Black.”

Karna’s eyes widened in realization even as Achilles rounded on Amakusa with fire burning in his eyes. Not even bothering to summon his weapon, the Rider lunged at the fake priest, his right arm reared back to unleash a haymaker. “Bastard!”

Before the blow could connect, however, he found his arm seized in Karna’s gloved grasp. With no visible effort, the son of Surya tossed Achilles away from Amakusa, the irate Rider landing on a bench and breaking it in twain.

“What the Hell. Lancer!” Achilles snarled as he flipped out of the wreckage. “That asshole lied to us and ordered Sis to her death!”

Ignoring the Greek’s outburst, Amakusa stood up and declared, “Dispose of the Ruler of this war. Rider, if you do not wish to, I’ll use a Command Seal to ensure compliance.”

Karna nodded, his face blank. In the next instant, his spear had materialized in a flash of mana and he had crossed half the distance between himself and Jeanne, weapon in line with her heart.

Before he could stab her, Achilles appeared between the two of them in a flash of green, his own spear slapping the son of Surya’s away with a harsh clang. Undeterred and unsurprised, Karna renewed his assault, though this time his spear burned with the solar flame of his heritage. Large swathes of fire trailed after each strike, making it harder to defend against and altogether making the front of the church more dangerous, as it was now aflame.

The Maiden of Orleans stood firm as she kept her eyes locked on Amakusa, her voice ringing clear as she summoned her standard into her hand. “Not only do you profane this Holy Grail War, but you are perfidious and traitorous to your allies. And more than that, your orders to the son of Surya could even bring about the destruction of these holy grounds…”

She shook her head as she jammed the butt of her standard into the ground. “Have you nothing to say, Shirou Tokisada Amakusa?”

“Regrettable. By the order of the Command Seal, Achilles, I order you to assist Karna in killing Jeanne d’Arc,” the apocryphal saint declared as he revealed his forearm, the Command Seal disappearing in a flash of red light.

Before the light had even faded, Jeanne retorted, “Achilles, by the order of the Ruler’s Command Seal, I sever your contract with Amakusa and transfer it to my Seals!”

With that command ringing through the air, Achilles and Karna redoubled their battle, even as Amakusa’s face twisted in anger. “Do you not understand, Maiden of Orleans? I seek only to bring salvation to this world! Your opposition is but a farce in the face of the Lord’s miracles!”

“No Amakusa, it is you who does not understand,” Jeanne replied, sadness brimming behind her blue eyes. “The state of the world is no business of the dead, and even moreso…it is not our place to question the Lord’s works and miracles, but you seem to have lost sight of that.”

“No, my sight has never been clearer!” Amakusa roared as he flung his arm out. “With the miracles that the Lord imparted upon my hands, I alone am qualified to shepherd humanity to Eden!”

-x-x-x-

At that moment, Trent, Johan, Fiore, Caules, and Jekyll were all getting spanked at Go Fish by Fran, the Berserker letting out cute cooing sounds as she celebrated.

Unwilling to ruin Fran’s good mood, they quickly rebuilt and shuffled the cards out, while Kairi watched from the side beneath a gentle smokestack and soaked in the atmosphere.

“Surprising how quiet it’s been tonight…”


	13. Interlude: East of Eden

Interlude: East of Eden

Shirou Tokisada Amakusa was  _ not _ having a good day.

His church was aflame, his forces had dwindled to all but nothing, and to top it all off, that fool of a Frenchwoman had taken one of his last two pieces from him.

What was more, Ruler had the  _ gall _ to claim that he did not know the word of God! He, who had been blessed with miracles beyond mortal comprehension, resting in each hand as surely as the stigmata had rested in Christ’s. She was a fool, blinded by the heresy of the base, mortal plane, and beyond his ability to save...at least for now.

“Lancer!” Amakusa called to his sole remaining Servant as he leapt over a pew and made for the back of the church. “Cover our retreat!”

Karna nodded, his eyes filling with fire of the metaphorical kind. If they’d filled with fire of the  _ literal _ kind, then…

Well, the now-burning church wouldn’t be on fire anymore, by virtue of it being very difficult to set ablaze something that has  _ disintegrated _ .

In the next instant, he exploded forward, his spear flashing towards Achilles as it trailed a banner of flame. The Grecian hero parried the blow with a sweep of verdant energy flashing off his polearm, using what leverage he could muster to force the son of Surya back.

As the two engaged in a furious back and forth, the son of Peleus called back, “Oi, Ruler! What’s the game plan for dealing with these two? They’re clearly going to be the troublesome sort, especially given that Amakusa’s planning on running!”

“Should they escape here, then I plan to enlist the aid of the other participants of the war. It is in the nature of magi to covet Command Seals, and if one is offered, then they’ll surely come to our aid,” the Maiden of Orleans replied as she stood amongst the flames licking at the church.

The blond let out a snort as he tried to force Karna out of the way, intent on cutting down the fake priest as quickly as he could. The son of Surya, however, gave no ground. It was abundantly clear that he would not falter until he could guarantee Amakusa’s escape.

As the priest passed out of sight beyond the altar, Karna made his move. Far more flame than before shrouded his spear as he leapt up and backward, coating the already-burning walls of the church in a fresh coat of flame. As Jeanne tried to dart after him, she was forced back by another wave of roiling flame.

Dashing past Jeanne and cutting a swathe through the flames, Achilles attempted to launch Karna out of the way, his weapon creaking under the force of his attack. Lancer was undeterred, however, bringing the divine metal of his weapon to bear against Rider’s with equal force.

In the wake of their clash, a shuddering crash sounded, one of the wooden beams holding up the roof collapsing to the ground as the church’s walls burned. Smoke and ash was kicked up by the impact, and even as Achilles swept his spear through the dust, Karna exploded through the crumbling roof.

The golden armored son of Surya clutched the side of his head as though in pain, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. 

“ _ O’ Brahma, Cover the Earth _ ,” he intoned, swiping his hand across his eye as though ripping away a covering.

“ _ Brahmastra!” _

A holocaust erupted from his gaze, setting the surroundings alight in an inferno even as the church itself was incinerated. Jeanne and Achilles only escaped due to the Rider summoning up his chariot and horses, pulling the two from the cindered wastes.

The two hastened to pursue Amakusa, only for Karna to continue harrying and delaying them through fire, steel, and Astra.

-x-x-x-

As the sounds of flame and clashing steel filled the air behind him, Amakusa sprinted across the fields towards Castle Yggdmillenia. Karna, thankfully, was doing a remarkable job keeping his pursuers from catching up to him, which against a mounted Rider-class was no mean feat.

He dodged around a spear-wielding homunculus as a golem standing beside it dashed its ally’s head off. As he weaved around the golem, he curled his fingers, filling his hands with Black Keys. Another homunculus, this one wielding a sword, darted towards him, dodging a strike from another golem as it did so. Unphased, the sham of a saint leapt, foot pressing down on the swordswoman’s shoulder as he pushed off. As he reached the apex of his jump, his arms snapped out, Black Keys flashing out in all directions.

With a cry of “Set!”, glyphs materialized at the ends of the sacramental rapiers, propelling them with great force and greater precision. Eight Keys were flung and eight shadows were pierced before his feet even touched the ground.

Quickly enough, Amakusa made it to the window that Atalante had broken the night prior. Boards had been put up, and it was high on the wall, but he easily scaled the wall upon the hilts of many Black Keys.

A flash of sacred steel parted the wood that covered the window, and he dropped into Caster’s lab. He rose to his feet, brushing dust and splinters off his cassock as he glanced around the lab. His eyes paused on a large, smooth crystal orb suspended over a pit filled with water. Within, he could see the faint swirls of mana, no doubt in part from Atalante’s Spirit Core.

He dragged his gaze away from the crystal as he heard footsteps behind him. He turned towards them, and golden eyes met a featureless mask.

“I apologise for the intrusion, Caster,” Amakusa began, “but it seems that time has run short for me. Jeanne D’Arc and Achilles have chased me from my base of operations, and are even now battling my sole remaining Servant, Lancer of Red, as they pursue me.”

His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists at his sides. “Is your Noble Phantasm ready for completion?”

“It is, it simply needs the…finishing touches, as it were,” the masked Caster replied as he kept at his work, mostly ignoring Amakusa.

The priest exhaled, seeming to relax slightly. “Good, good...Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Currently, nothing, as I’ve already extracted all that was necessary from Roche,” Avicebron answered, gesturing vaguely towards the golem, which had splashes of blood on it.

Amakusa nodded slowly. A necessary sacrifice, for the sake of bringing mankind to Eden.

The roar of explosive sunfire came from outside the lab, briefly illuminating the lab in a crimson-gold glow. Amakusa’s Command Seals burned as Karna continued to engage Achilles and Jeanne in the fields before Castle Yggdmillenia. 

-x-x-x-

The melee continued between the three of them, Karna’s flames burning away any homunculi or golems that dared approach their conflict. The very air around them turned to blazes as the son of Peleus plunged his chariot through the flames and parted them beneath it. Standing behind him, Jeanne d’Arc kept her eyes on Castle Yggdmillenia, trying to discover just where Amakusa had gone.

Homunculi had no chance to even attack the Servants, their bodies falling to ash as the simple presence of Karna incinerated them. Golems were blasted to glass statues in their wake, and shattered by the passing of the Chariot. The fields leading to the base of the Black Faction were rapidly set on fire and consumed by the battle between them.

“Were it not for my orders, Rider, then I would have looked forward to battling you to my fullest,” the son of Surya remarked as he tried to push them back.

The son of Peleus snorted as he set his chariot to drive them forward, his spear clashing with Karna’s. “Heh…I’ll admit, maybe in another war we’d be able to fight to our fullest.”

“Despite the fact that such a bond could be interesting, this is hardly the time for such a discussion! We need to stop Amakusa,” Jeanne called from her spot behind Achilles, her standard held at the ready.

As though in response to her words, a great roar shook the earth as a titan of stone and sediment rose from the field. Golems fell to pieces and homunculi tumbled to the ground insensate as the earth around it split apart and was covered in vibrant, unnatural flora. Great spines pierced the sky from its shoulders, a hoop of stone going over its head, all of them glowing with a dull green light. Its face was stuck in a skeletal grimace, its trio of eyes emanating the same glow as the other pustules on its body. 

On each shoulder stood a humanoid figure, one masked and unfamiliar, the other white-haired and all too familiar.

Somehow, Jeanne knew what this titan was: a facsimile of the primordial man.

_ Adam. _

As the towering figure roared, Karna disengaged from Achilles and drifted backwards, flame-licked heels keeping him aloft as he telepathically asked his Master,  _ ‘What else would you have of me?’ _

The response was curt and strained, as though Amakusa were performing some great task.  _ ‘Hold them there. All will be well.’ _

_ ‘Understood.’ _

-x-x-x-

Perched as he was on the shoulder of the primordial man, Amakusa could see Eden beginning to form at its feet. The first stage of the plan was complete, but now came the true test of his faith.

He glanced down at the back of his hand, where five crimson seals yet glowed with power. He closed his eyes, and four of the five began to shine brighter.

Avicebron let out a chuckle as he kept his helmeted gaze upon the golem. “Now, my Adam shall bring Eden upon this sinful Earth, freeing humanity from their mire of sin and bringing about a new age of prosperity. Truly, this shall be what’s needed to cleanse humanity of sin.” He turned to look at the priest, his arms raised as he continued, “And indeed, it could not have been achieved without your participation. With this, the Lord’s work shall be completed.”

Amakasua nodded. “Indeed, it shall.” he proclaimed raising his arm skyward as the light of his Command Seals reached its apex. “Oh Lord, I offer all that I am to you!

"By these Command Seals, I order this body of mine: infuse the miracles granted unto these unworthy hands by the Lord into the primordial man!"

As that all was ongoing, Avicebron attempted to interfere, panic colouring his movements as he cried, “Stop! No, what are you doing? This could undo all our work, tainting it with the sinful flesh of man!”

With his exultation, Amakusa began to shine, his entire body seeming to distort and become light as it flowed into Golem Keter Malkuth’s core. As he faded from existence, the wind carried a rebuke to Avicebron’s ears.

_ “Fear not, for He watches over us.” _

In the next instant, the primordial man began to shake and tremble as pure white light poured from its eyes and pustules. The quaking quickly intensified to such a degree that Avicebron was flung from its shoulder.

In the next breath, Golem Keter Malkuth split in half, from crown to abdomen, light pouring from its chest. Before Avicebron even had the time to cry out, from the light  _ he  _ stepped.

He was roughly the same height as Amakusa had been, Avicebron absently noticed as the figure touched down on the flowers of Eden. But there the similarities ended. Rather than flesh, his body was comprised of loamy earth and stone, a single, large fig leaf growing out of his nethers. Rather than hair, his head was crowned by countless blades of grass. The features of his face were paradoxically both those of every human, and absent of all semblance of humanity at all.

If Golem Keter Malkuth had been a replica, an attempt to create a second Adam, then this could only be one being:

“The true primordial man…” Avicebron whispered, all thought wiped away by awe.

Adam (for indeed, it could be no other being) raised his head. “I have been called forth,” he said in a voice that sounded like an avalanche bathed in clear spring water, “and all shall be embraced in salvation.”   


_“The Paradise That We Lost,”_ he intoned as he raised his hand.

_ “GanʿḖḏen.” _

And all was light.


	14. Chapter 11: The Gang Plans Primeval Patricide

Chapter 11: The Gang Plans Primeval Patricide

As the words passed Adam’s lips, a wave of emerald light surged forth from where his feet touched the ground and raced across the land in all directions. As this light passed over Avicebron, who had barely begun to rise to his feet, his body began to change. His very existence began to  _ peel away _ , leaving behind a man-shaped hole in the world which very quickly began to fill with soil, rocks, and foliage, seemingly conjured from the nether.

The faceless  _ thing  _ which had been Avicebron made no attempts to move from where it stood, merely standing in place. Were it not for the fact that its chest rose and fell, it could’ve been a statue.

Eden’s encroachment upon the land spread rapidly, swiftly approaching both the site of Karna’s battle with Achilles as well as the walls of Castle Yggdmillennia.

-x-x-x-

Within the castle, Vlad Tepes III gripped the arms of his throne with white knuckles that stood out even against his wax-pale skin. “The work of a traitor and a heretic who would set himself above God... This will not stand! Not within my kingdom!” He never raised his voice, but his sheer intensity was enough to make even Astolfo, who had been called to the throne room with his Master, stand quiet and still.

The Prince of Wallachia rose to his feet and slammed his ornate spear into the stone floor.  _ “Kazikli Bey!” _ he declared, drawing in more and more mana as he deployed his Noble Phantasm.

Outside the castle, stake after stake rose from the ground all along the walls, each one succumbing to Eden’s grasp and crumbling to soil even as a new stake rose to take its place. For the moment, Eden could not pass Lancer’s Noble Phantasm, not when it was used in the ultimate seat of his power, to defend his kingdom from malign invasion. 

Vlad turned to regard Gordes, who had also been called to the throne room by Darnic. Notably, Saber of Black was not with him, having already been deployed to the edge of the forest to intercept the intruders. “What news, Master of Saber?”

The rotund man wiped at his brow with a handkerchief as he stood at attention, paling slightly under Vlad’s scrutiny. “Yes, well…”

-x-x-x-

The gleaming silver blade of Balmung clashed with the burning gold of the Son of Surya’s spear. “Now!” Siegfried shouted over his shoulder.

“Already on it!” Achilles barked back, raising his shield.  _ “Akhilleus Kosmos!” _

At that moment, the shield in his hands glowed as it unleashed its hidden power. A world of verdant marble flowed outward and against Eden, creating an ephemeral clash. An entire Grecian world poured out and up against the field that Adam was pushing, creating a war of the worlds as Eden eroded what came into contact with it.

The shield’s ability created a schism between the three worlds as it essentially safeguarded Earth from the spread of the false paradise.

Achilles turned his head to the Maiden of Orleans and hollered, “Ruler! I’m holding it here for the moment, so if you’re gonna do something, now’s the time!”

Jeanne clasped her hands before her as the Command Seals on her back began to glow, visible even through her armor.

_ “Masters of Black, Masters of White, hear me! I, Jeanne D’Arc, Ruler-Class Servant of this Great Holy Grail War, call to you for aid! The Ruler Class Servant of the Third Fuyuki Grail War, Shirou Tokisada Amakusa, has unleashed the primordial man unto the world. Eden encroaches even now, warping the world into a corrupted paradise. We are able to hold it in place for now, but we cannot hold it forever!” _

-x-x-x-

Across Trifas, in their little crypt, where they’d been playing Uno, the various members of the White team all looked around. Some of them were confused, some of them were afraid.

Trent, meanwhile, looked at Johan and declared, “I thought we were trying to stop this, why the fuck is this happening if Atalante was supposed to kill Avicebron?”

Johan sighed. “Hell if I know. It’s probably Amakusa’s fault, though.”

“Well, yes, clearly. The Kindling said as much, but my main issue is just fucking what happened while we weren’t looking,” the blond replied as he stood up and cracked his back. “Alright, so… we gotta kill Golem Keter Malkuth and destroy Eden. Any ideas?”

Johan rubbed his chin. “Well, since Ruler mentioned ‘holding it in place’, I think it’s safe to say that it’s gotten big enough that we’ll need some serious firepower to kill it.” He looked over to Mordred pointedly. “Hyde may be an incredibly powerful fighter, but he can’t match the power of sword-beam.”

“Except for the fact that there’s no guarantee that a sword-beam would even be able to penetrate Eden properly,” the Canuck pointed out as he crossed his arms, his eyes then shifting over to Fran. “Hell, we need to consider the fact that Golem Keter Malkuth can’t even be properly killed while it's in Eden, so we literally need something to corrode Eden enough to kill it.”

It was at this point that Dr. Jekyll exclaimed, “Eve!” When everyone turned to look at him, he blushed, coughed into a fist, and then raised a finger.

“This Golem Keter Malkuth: it’s a facsimile of Adam, yes?” At Johan and Trent’s nod, he continued, looking at Fran, who stood right beside him. “When Victor made Fran...he wanted to recreate Eve.” Fran growled at his words, but didn’t shy away, and Jekyll continued. “If I can modify my Dangerous Game’s recipe to draw out a specific trait or concept, rather than merely expunging the concept of ‘evil’ from the drinker…”

“Then we’d be able to bring out the conceptual idea planted within Fran,” Trent finished with a nod, his own eyes travelling to the Berserker. After a moment, he frowned. “The issue then, is that we need a delivery system, as Eden basically eats whatever enters it.”

Johan nodded. “While it’s  _ possible _ that a conceptual Eve could survive Eden, there’s no way to guarantee it.”

“Actually…” The blond scratched at his chin, his brow furrowing as he looked at the good doctor. “Hyde’s transformation allows him to heal almost instantaneously, right?”

Jekyll nodded. “His Restructuring skill allows him such potent shapeshifting that he can make it so that wounds don’t even exist anymore, but I’m not sure that it would work the same way against something conceptual and powerful like Eden.”

“…Well, what if he rapidly shucked off the conceptually changed parts as he went?” Trent suggested, only really throwing it out there because it was one of the few options they had. “Because, as it stands, Carmy and I can do jack and squat against it, and from what I know most of our team is in the same boat.”

Kairi took a puff of a cigarette, then dropped it on the ground and snuffed it out with his heel. “Before we start running around like chickens with our heads cut off, maybe you should send a familiar to check the sitch? You’ll be able to see what’s going down, and if anyone would know how well your plan would go, it’d be Ruler, right?”

“…Yeah, that’s fair,” the blond answered as he flicked out a few feathers, quickly folding them into a familiar and tossing it towards the entrance to the crypt. As it took wing, he took over its sight and guided it out to the field between the forest and Castle Yggdmillenia.

Upon taking in the sight of what was occurring, he bit back a scream.

With a deep sigh, he put his face into his hands and groaned, “Johan, it’s not Golem Keter Malkuth.”

Johan squinted at him, then replied, “...Elaborate?”

“Eden’s expanding, with Achilles and Siegfried holding its expansion back, and at the centre of Eden is some nude douchebag wearing a fig leaf,” the blond answered, still feeling rather annoyed by the sudden shift in enemy.

Johan blinked, raised a finger, then lowered it. “Well, shit. Is Jeanne nearby? Maybe she can shed light on just  _ what the entire fuck happened.” _

“Fair enough,” Trent murmured as he wheeled his familiar down to wear the Maiden of Orleans was overseeing the battle, consternation clear on her features.

-x-x-x-

As the familiar landed on her shoulder, it screeched, “SCRAW! What the actual fuck’s happening here, you uneducated peasant?!”

Ruler glanced at the false bird with an aggrieved expression on her face. “Ah, Blackmore. Did my message not clarify what happened sufficiently? As you can plainly see, Amakusa has unleashed a false Eden upon this land.” 

She gestured to Achilles, who was maintaining his Noble Phantasm even as Seigfried warded off attempts by Karna to disrupt him doing so. As Trent looked on, though, he could see that neither the son of Peleus nor his shield were unscathed by the process; as Eden encroached upon the miniature world, so too did its grasp on the shield and its wielder grow. “We are holding it here, for now, but we cannot hold it back forever.”

“Yeah, that’s great and all, sugar tits, but  _ this _ is fucking entirely outside of what Johan and I had been planning around! This is so completely out of left field that we’re scrambling to prepare for this as it stands!” the familiar squawked in Trent’s voice, flapping its wings wildly. “We’d been planning for other shit, not this pile of blasphemy!”

Jeanne sent him a dead-eyed stare. “Do you not recall the saying ‘the best laid plans of mice and men are oft to go awry’? Making plans for what may come is all well and good, but even with knowledge of what  _ might _ come, there are no guarantees. Especially not in a Holy Grail War.” She sighed. “But this is hardly the time for lectures; what we need is a way to stop Adam. Falsely incarnated or not, his Eden cannot be allowed to grow any further.” She pointed off into the distance, at a figure standing stock-still near to Adam himself.

“Avicebron was closest to him when he touched down, and he was immediately turned into a being made of stone and earth, devoid of higher reasoning. It is probable that the same would happen to any other Servant or human who enters the field as well.” She looked at the familiar. “Have you or your associates any ideas as to how we might defeat Adam? I... _ may _ have an option myself, but it would require the sacrifice of both myself  _ and  _ the innocent who is hosting my Saint Graph, and I am loathe to resort to that unless all else fails.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t go firing off  _ La Pucelle _ , we all know it’s a gun with only one bullet.” As the bird said that, its body twitched. “As it stands, we’re working on our own preparations before joining you all there. While Assassin and I would be little more than eye candy, we’ve something of a plan thrown together to deal with…  _ this. _ Actually, that reminds me, little miss of Arc! How well do you think ramming the embodiment of Eve wielding proof of humanity’s triumph over the Age of the Gods would do against this thing?”

Jeanne opened her mouth, then gained a distant look in her eyes. After a few moments of silence, she seemed to snap back to the present, and replied, “Do it. It is our best chance.”

“Well, if that’s it then…buy us time, toots, we’ll be there ASAP,” the familiar declared before exploding in a shower of black feathers.

-x-x-x-

Trent shook his head as he blinked back into his body and continued, “Ruler says it’s our best shot, so let’s get the lead out, people! Kairi, your main job once we’re done here’ll be to hit Castle Yggdmillennia and put a bullet in Darnic’s head as soon as Adam’s dealt with!”

“You’re pretty energetic, Blackmore,” the grizzled magus remarked, even as he pulled out his weapon and started prepping it.

Ignoring that, Trent continued on, “Mordred, you’re gonna be working double duty on keeping Karna distracted and pushing back Eden’s encroachment!”

“When the hell’d you become the boss around here?” the petite blonde snarled, but was cut off by Kairi just patting her on the shoulder and shaking his head, telling her without words that there was no point in arguing.

Trent pointed over at the Mentor of Heroes. “Chiron, we’re gonna need you to snipe some people when all’s said and done, so keep an ear out!”

The incognito centaur glanced at his Master, and when she nodded, he replied with a calm, “Understood.”

The Canuck turned his gaze over to the Forvedges and the centerpiece of their current plan. “Fiore, stay cute and stay safe!”

“E-eh?” replied the Master of Archer, but Trent had already moved on. 

“Fran, we need you to get hype! Caules, try and keep calm, I was just telling your sister a fact!”

The Berserker let out a grunt as she pumped her fists, her Master caught between berating the Canadian and freaking out over their current plan. The blond just ignored them as he swivelled to the last three. “Jekyll, double time it on that elixir! Carmy, use Presence Concealment to sneak up on Karna and smear the butter down his front! Johan, don’t launch your spaghetti just yet, because this war’s almost done!”

“It was one time, goddamnit,” Johan muttered, face red. Jekyll, for his part, was already walking towards his lab with decisive intent. He returned moments later with a vial of... _ something _ , a no-doubt noxious substance that hurt just to look at. He proffered the Blueneck Butter to Carmilla, who accepted it, secreting it within her sleeves.

The silver haired vampiress let out a hum as she considered the situation. “I’m honestly surprised Master, I’d have thought that you’d have taken the chance to waffle or insult someone in your instructions.”

The blond snorted as he started shoving bird feathers into his pockets, making sure he had his ancestral Mystic Code as he all but shouted, “We ain’t got no time for internal strife, Carmy! We gotta reenact the Original Sin!”


	15. Chapter 12: The Gang Recommits the Original Sin

Chapter 12: The Gang Recommits the Original Sin

“Alright, let’s get the lead out!” Trent roared as he ushered his group out of the crypt. “We got almost no time, and little in the way of use for it! Let’s go, go, go!”

Carmilla shook her head as she strode out after him, amusement plain as day on her features. “Honestly, it’s almost amusing to see you so enthused, Master.”

Kairi snorted. “‘Amusing’ isn’t the word I’d’ve used, but Blackmore summoned you for a reason, I guess.”

“My Master and I’ve quite the odd compatibility, something that I’ve noted before, to his chagrin,” the vampiress responded, a haughty smile on her features.

Trent huffed a little as he prepared yet more familiars and feathers as weapons. “I’d normally be quite happy to have good compatibility with a beautiful woman, but we’ve got it for all the wrong reasons, sweetie.”

“Quite,” the Assassin responded with a chuckle.

Mordred broke in with an impatient growl, “Less talking, more moving! I’ve been waiting this whole damn war for a good fight, and like _ hell _ I’m missing the final battle!”

“Oh, hush, Mordred, this is hardly the time to fly off the handle all gung-ho! We must be precise with this, because holy shit are we in trouble!” the blond replied, getting ready to roll out. “Where the fuck are the others?”

Even as he asked this, they turned a corner out into the clearing, where Chiron and Fiore stood, waiting for them. Fiore seemed to be telling her Servant something, but as the group approached the duo, Fiore gave a decisive nod and walked over to Trent, a determined look on her face. He noticed that she was wearing her Mystic Code on her back, though it was yet to be deployed.

“Glad to have the two of you with us! Are Fran, Caules, Jekyll and Johan sticking here for the moment while we roll the vanguard?” the Canuck asked, feathers spilling out of his pockets by the bucket-load.

Fiore nodded. “The doctor is going to need a bit of time to modify his formula, and he said that having Fran on-hand is important for him making sure he gets it right. My brother wants to stay behind because he’s a worrywart, and Johan doesn’t want to risk getting killed early and cutting off the mana to our only way of killing Adam.”

“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” Trent remarked, trying to get everything puzzled out. “We all ready to hit the road? Carmy, you’ll need to go PC so you can get the drop on el Hermano de Arjuna.”

“The fact that I can’t even find fault with your statement irks me, though it’s necessary,” Carmilla replied as she faded out of view, a grimace of distaste on her beautiful visage.

Looking around at the group, Trent clambered into the back seat of Kairi’s car and all but yelled, “C’mon, nerds, we got a Primordial to murder!”

-x-x-x-

In the deepest corner of the crypt that the White Faction had commandeered, Doctor Jekyll brewed a fell philter to unleash the latent power sleeping within Frankenstein’s Monster. Despite the seemingly ominous nature of the setting and the events occuring, the process involved no striking lightning, no bubbling cauldrons of unnatural ooze and a below-average number of maniacal cackles.

No, the process was incredibly mundane, so much so that Caules was struggling to keep his eyes open. Johan, for his part, was focusing on his tome, finally having the downtime to see if there was anything within it that would be both useful  _ and _ something he could figure out how to use in the time they had left.

Results...weren’t very promising.

Fran, meanwhile, was just sitting on a coffin beside Jekyll’s work space, swinging her metal-capped legs and humming under her breath.

After a little over an hour, during which time Caules  _ had _ fallen asleep and Johan managed to find a single work of Magecraft that would be of  _ some _ use, Jekyll straightened from where he’d been poring over his makeshift lab, a smoking vial carefully held in his gloved fingers.

“It is done,” he said reverently. “I give you, the Extract of Variable Ethos, designed with the idea of bringing out and maximizing the ‘Eve’ nature that was left in Fran by Victor.”

Caules, who’d snapped awake at the good doctor’s words, asked, “And you’re certain it will work?”

Jekyll frowned. “Nothing is ever  _ certain _ , least of all an experimental process such as this.” He looked Caules in the eyes, a firm resolve sharpening his gentlemanly features. “However, I have put every bit of knowledge, skill and effort available to me into making this work; if it does not, all is lost.”

Caules opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a firm, humming growl came from Fran, who’d hopped down off of the coffin and walked over to the two of them. She patted Caules’ shoulder, then grabbed the vial from Jekyll’s hand and tossed it back like a six-time drinking contest champion with a jello shot.

Johan watched in a mix of awe and shock as light engulfed Fran’s body. As it faded, her hair grew at an accelerated pace, green shooting through it as her eyes glowed a soft crimson from behind the curtain of her emerald tinged bangs. There was a sharp cracking noise as her entire body shifted and grew, her arms and legs lengthening as their metal casings fell away in pieces. She let out a grunt as greenery started to overtake and consume her clothing, making it look more like a barbarian’s wardrobe put together from scraps of cloth and vines while spores of luminescence fell around her. The metal horn upon her head shattered as an osseous substitute erupted from the skin on her forehead, small and unintelligible runes carved into the bone. Finally, there was her mace; instead of the contraption of steel, it looked more like the limb of a tree, torn off and covered in apple blossoms, despite its bulbous head.

“Now we. Go,” Fran—no,  _ Eve _ said, her voice stilted but clear and bright. The sound of her voice filled Masters and Servant alike with a sense of lightness as an intangible but all too real blanket of maternal love settled onto their shoulders.

And so, go they did.

-x-x-x-

The air of the field was alight with frenetic energy as Mordred, Siegfried and Karna clashed, the Son of Surya lashing out with volcanic gouts of flame to try and force them away from Achilles, who was busy holding back Eden. The Knight of Betrayal let out a roar of anger as crimson lightning flashed between her and the Lancer, who simply absorbed the attack while parrying a slash capable of sundering mountains from Siegfried.

The Hero of Charity let out a hum of approval as he fought them, relishing the fight despite the fact that his orders to defeat anything trying to stop Eden clashed with his desire to battle to his fullest. “Truly, I am blessed to have been given the opportunity to battle with warriors such as you, even should my orders conflict with actually fighting with all my might.”

Seigfreid remained impassive in the face of this remark, but Mordred _ erupted _ , slashing at her opponent with abandon. “The hell d’you say to me?! You pale bastard, I’ve heard about you, you’re just some shitty knock-off of that Gorilla!”

Karna arched an eyebrow as he turned back the assault. “Is that so, Saber? I cannot say that I know of who you speak, but I assure you, I am no ‘knock-off’ of any kind.”

“Feh! You ain’t hot shit! So just hurry up and die on my sword already!” the Saber of Red roared back as she let out another wave of red lightning, trying to crush the Lancer. Simultaneously, Seigfried lunged forward with a slash at Karna’s flank, letting out a loud cry of effort as he did so.

Undeterred, the Son of Surya twirled his spear, a banner of flame intercepting the crimson lightning even as the gleaming golden spear turned aside the silver blade of Balmung. “Regrettably, I must decline. I have my orders, and I cannot allow myself to fall until my Master’s will is realized. I must ask that  _ you _ perish, instead.” With that statement, Karna pulled back his spear, white flames engulfing it as he intoned,  _ “O’ Brahmastra, Curse Me… _

“ _ Brahmastra Kundala! _ ”

The field was suddenly lit up as if it was midday, Mordred forced to try and contend with the blast as the attack bore down upon her. Siegfried appeared beside her, Balmung held to guard the attack, and with their combined might they deflected it toward Adam, where it simply fizzled out.

-x-x-x-

Meanwhile, within Castle Yggdmillennia, a venomous woman with piss-yellow eyes and a shaggy grey ponytail glared at her Servant. “I don’t  _ care!” _ She snapped. “If you don’t at least  _ try _ , it’s  _ my _ ass on the line. Now use your Noble Phantasm and  _ get out there!” _

Astolfo cocked his head to one side, causing his pink braid to flop to one side. “I meeeeean, I guess I can? But listen, Master, look at it this way? You can experience all sorts of new things if I don’t do it! Think about it, you could try having a stake shoved through your hands, or your neck, or your chest! It’s a neat experience!”

Celenike, fool that she was, took this as an insult, rather than the genuine suggestion that it was, and turned an unhealthy shade of puce. An incoherent mix between a growl and a shriek escaped her throat, and Astolfo turned and ran, preferring to brave the ravages of Eden to facing the anger of his Master.

“Let’s go!” he yelled out,  _ “Otherworldly Phantom Horse!” _

He leapt into the air, and a pillar of light appeared between his legs.

_ “Hippogriff!” _

A majestic beast, a cross between an eagle and a horse, appeared such that Astolfo landed perfectly astride its back, and a pair of massive wings pummeled the air. Moments later, Rider of Black crashed through the front doors of Castle Yggdmillennia, erupting into the field of effect of Eden. Even as its corrosive, transformative energy closed around rider and steed, Astolfo yelled, “Dimensional Shift!”

And then everything went sideways, inside out, and backwards.

The Rider flew through the field, somehow managing to teleport through it and out the other side, while upside down. He flailed his arms, staying attached to the Hippogriff’s back through the sheer strength of his thighs. “Ah! Master, it didn’t work! I told you it wouldn’t work! Maybe you should try! Your entire bad bitch with a bad attitude schtick might let you break through! You’re a big snake in the grass after all! Also, cobras are deadly, but I survived, even after one bit me down low when I was taking a piss!”

A telepathic shriek pierced his cranium, before his Master snarled,  _ “Look around you!” _

“Oh,” Astolfo looked around at the melee, despite being upside down, and after a few moments of thought,  _ again  _ despite he and the Hippogriff being upside down, pounded a fist down on the flat of his hand. “Talk about flying out of the frying pan and into the flapjack pit!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a head of blonde hair (which was attached to a rather shapely armored woman’s body), and dived down to meet with the Servant that could only be Ruler, (of course still upside down). “Hi Ruler! I made an attempt! Tell my mean Master I made an attempt! She’s gonna do all sortsa weird stuff, like whip me, stab me, and ride me like she does little boy corpses! Meanwhile, I’d much rather ride you like my hippogriff here.”

Jeanne flushed, then shook her head. “Now is hardly the time for tomfoolery, Rider of Black. But now that you have arrived, you may as well make yourself useful.” She turned to regard the treeline, from which Jekyll and the Eve-ified Fran emerged. “I need you to take Berserker of White over the peak of Eden and drop her on Adam.”

Ignoring the byplay between the two, Karna kept up his attempts to get past Mordred and Siegfried, absentmindedly batting aside a jar, which immediately shattered. The hissing, electric blue paste inside it splashed out and covered his front from the waist down, earning a sharp intake of breath from him as he tried to fight through the terrible pain of having his dick burned off by acid on the level of what nearly choked Shiva.

“Roger that!” the paladin chirped as the hippogriff flipped over and winged above Jekyll, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Alright, mister noodle-man! I dunno what’s going to happen, but I’m sure you’ll mess up Adam! Berserkers work like nonsense, right? So I get it! You and me are hedgehogs of the same hoof!”

Jekyll flailed a bit, then gestured to Eve. “Not me, her! I may be frail in this form, but a woman I am  _ not _ .”

“I mean, I’m not one either, but people get me confused for one all the time! It must be because I’m so cute! I should go on a world tour someday!” As he cheered that, the hippogriff let go of Jekyll and grabbed Fran of its own volition, sharing a pained look with Ruler. It then shot into the air, earning a whoop from Astolfo as he was nearly bent backwards by the g-forces, the Eve-influenced Fran letting out a sharp sound as the head of her mace started flashing with incandescent might.

As they reached the apex of the flight, it let her loose, sending her blasting towards Adam with her weapon reared back. “The Earth. Remembers! All Humanity. Remembers! Adam, fall! This is it, the beginning. Of Humanity’s journey, without gods! The First Sin, once again!  _ Blasted Empyrean Fruit Tree – The First Stone Against God!” _

Adam looked up at the beacon of heretical light thundering towards him, his expression changing for the first time as his mouth opened, and he let out three words.

“Eve, welcome home.”


	16. Chapter 13: Karna Gets A Deep Honk

Chapter 13: Karna Gets A Deep Honk

There was a thunderous sound as Adam and Eve collided, the soundwave deafening the group as a brilliant flash of light blinded them. When the group’s senses cleared, they found themselves looking at something more like a tableau than a duel; both combatants were totally still, their forms textured like earth and stone as their petrified figures were held suspended.

Then, as the last of the sound echoed away into the night, Eden ceased to exist and the amalgam of plant life and rock that had once been Avicebron fell apart.

The stoney figures of Adam and Eve seemed to grow dozens of fractures in just a moment before they both exploded outwards, Fran and Amakusa falling out of the now-statues. Neither had been left unchanged though; the Berserker’s various metal casings were missing from her limbs and head, revealing flesh and blood in their place. Meanwhile, the former Ruler was missing his arms, and his hair was a dishevelled mane around a face twisted in rage.

Amakusa staggered to his feet, rage burning in his eyes as he roared, “Karna! By the order of my final Command Seal, use your Noble Phantasm—_ GCK!” _

Blood poured from his mouth as numerous stakes of reddish-black material ripped through his back and lifted him up, piercing him through several times in the process.

“—and wipe these blasphemers and heretics from existence!” the false Kotomine choked past the blood, a red glow issuing from his shoulder before fading away.

In the distance, a golden-red light began to shine. Simultaneously, the regal form of Vlad Tepes III arrived at the epicenter of Adam and Eve’s clash astride a black horse, his face impassive. His eyes, though, were full of arctic fury. He raised his empty left hand, and slowly closed it into a fist.

Amakusa let out a wet sigh as the stakes tore through him, his death rattle ending abruptly as his body was flensed apart by a starburst of metal that exploded from his core before vanishing.

Lancer of Black looked down at the scraps of flesh and gore that were once the leader of the Shimabara Rebellion, a faint expression of disdain flickering across his otherwise unshakable visage for a moment.

“A fitting end, for one such as you,” the Prince of Wallachia declared, before turning to regard Fran, who yet remained kneeling and unresponsive. “As for _ you _…”

-x-x-x-x-x-

In the skies above the field, as Karna had readied his Noble Phantasm, arm reeled back and flame building up around him as he chanted, “Know the mercy of the King of Gods!” As he ignored the stinging pain from his lower half, the air around him ignited alongside the armor that was his flesh, momentarily birthing a second sun.

A howling ripped through the air as a furred blur shot towards him, Hyde’s skin rapidly combusting and then healing as it closed on the Lancer of Red. Eying the Berserker in curiosity, the Son of Surya continued, “With this single strike, I shall inflict extinction!”

A sound that couldn’t rightly be called a howl, a roar, or a scream echoed across the rapidly-immolating fields as the lupine monster sprang into the air, wickedly curved claws reaching for Karna even as burned flesh sloughed off and was replaced by new, unblemished fur as fast as it could be charred.

Karna tried to move out of the way, but was momentarily halted by the pain that the acid had inflicted upon him. That single moment, though, was all that Hyde needed. One claw wrapped around the Lancer’s throat, burning all the while, while the other bent unnaturally and dove into the inflamed, vulnerable spot between Karna’s legs. Pain tore the breath from his lungs as the furred claw squirmed and burrowed its way up through his abdomen, under his ribs, and closed around his spirit core—his heart.

With a triumphant ululation, Hyde tore his entire arm from Karna’s chest, opening a long, bloody trench that started at his breast and ended at his crotch. As demigod and man-made monster plummeted to the ground, the flames in the sky began to wink out. By the time the Son of Surya slammed unceremoniously into the earth, the only evidence that remained of his aborted Noble Phantasm was the scorched and ravaged portion of the land.

Hyde, for his part, landed on its feet, pausing briefly to slurp down Karna’s heart before leaping once more, this time towards where Adam and Eve had met.

What passed through the creature’s bestial mind at that moment could scarcely have been called a thought; it would be more accurate to compare it to an instinctive reaction: the instinct of a pack animal driven to protect its own.

And protect its own Hyde would.

At _ any _ cost.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Strolling through Castle Yggdmillennia, Carmilla couldn’t help but feel at home as she allowed herself to enjoy the ambience. It was so rare that buildings with such character would still be inhabited, and it tickled her to see just how closely the castle resembled her own, even down to the furnishings.

The Assassin knew she had a job to do, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t enjoy herself while the others took care of the busy work. Honestly, it all seemed rather overblown and tacky, but she understood that some just enjoyed their spectacles.

Following the smell of old blood and squid, Carmilla stalked through the door that had been left open, finding Celenike Icecolle Yggdmillenia staring out her window. Strutting up behind her, the Assassin couldn’t help but appraise the woman.

She was a beautiful woman, if severe. Her body was lush and her hair voluminous, and her beauty was only ruined by the harsh scowl she wore. Even her clothes were cut to show her innate beauty, which caused Carmilla to shake her head.

“What a waste.”

As the Servant spoke, Celenike spun on her heel, eyes wide as she went to scream, only for Carmilla’s knuckles to slam into her head and break her neck. As the scream fell into a death rattle and the corpse collapsed, Assassin grabbed its wrist and peeled the skin off the back of one of its hands, a pair of Command Seals winking at her as she did.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Meanwhile, the Forvedge siblings, along with Johan, had split from Mordred and Kairi. The Saber and the Necromancer had proceeded towards the main hall to confront Darnic, while the unlikely trio had descended further into the castle to check on the status of the homunculi. The as-of-yet-unnamed homunculus that had joined their group hadn’t asked them to, but he hadn’t _ needed _to.

What they found..._ wasn’t _ promising.

Whether because of the battles going on or the advent of Adam, almost all of the homunculi in the tanks were dead. Only a handful of them remained alive, and even those seemed to be in great pain.

A single female homunculus moved quickly from holding tube to holding tube, checking each of the homunculi in turn and making adjustments to the mana batteries.

As the trio entered the room, the homunculus turned, her eyes boring into them. After a few moments, she inquired, “Lady and Lord Forvedge, what has brought you and your…guest, here?”

Fiore walked forward, prompting the homunculus to blink in surprise. “Grandfather—no, _ Darnic _, is about to die, and Celenike should already be dead. Come, let us free those who remain alive among your kin.”

“I see,” the homunculus replied, processing just what she was told. She then nodded curtly. “This way, then. I suppose the tubby bastard will be following your example soon enough, and need straightening out.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

“You know, Gordes,” Trent began as he readied a gripful of feathers, the homunculus following behind him, watching the magus warily. Though he did spare a wink for Chiron, who was watching from the distance. “I really hadn’t expected to see you again after you failed Darnic so spectacularly, but here you are. Now, roll over like the dog you are, or are you still so loyal to Darnic? How praiseworthy, to be so invested in a sinking ship that you’d follow the captain down with it!”

“Save your smarm, traitor! Saber, cut him down!” the pudgy blond snarled, his cheeks purpling with rage as he pointed at the Canadian. A Command Seal disappeared from the back of his hand as he finished the order, leaving but one sigil remaining.

Siegfried looked as though his Master had told him to swallow dung, but the Command Seal propelled him toward Trent without a word, Balmung carving a silver arc towards the Master of White.

It was slapped away by a blast of emerald, Achilles interposing himself between Saber and the Master with an easy smile. Even as the Rider blocked the strike, a thin arrow sprouted from Siegfried’s shoulder, though the Dragonslayer paid it little mind, compelled as he was. “Yo, mystery Master, I ain’t too sure whether or not we’re actually allies, but I gotta ask: what’s your angle for the Grail? I’m basically a free agent, so…”

“No point in lying or trying to obfuscate it. I’d just give the wish to Mister Shishigou, so he can see his daughter again,” Trent answered with a weary shrug. All this action was really starting to wear him out.

The Rider of Red nodded, a satisfied smile on his face as he hollered, “Oi, Ruler! Cancel our contract, I’m gonna take out Saber here!”

“Honestly…well, the contract would have been ending soon enough either way,” Jeanne replied, the array of Command Seals on her back shining as she stood tall. “By the power I wield as moderator of this Holy Grail War, I dissolve the contract between myself and Rider of Red!”

Quickly knocking aside another blow, Achilles held his spear up before him as he remarked, “Well, Saber of Black, shall we have ourselves a duel? No weapons, no interruptions, just you and me beating on each other until one of us falls.”

Siegfried glanced at Achilles’ limbs, raw and scarred as they were from staving off Eden. The Dragonslayer then met the Son of Peleus’ eyes across their clashing weapons. There was an unshakable resolve in them, and a sort of desperate eagerness besides.

He smiled, though the Command Seal prevented him from pulling back Balmung. “I’d be happy to, Rider.”

“Saber! Don’t you dare do this to me! After your failures with the homunculus, and now thi—” Gordes’ howling was cut off by a stone bouncing off his forehead with not inconsiderable force.

The one who threw it stood beside Trent, glaring at his creator as he interrupted, “You don’t get to say that! You’ve dragged his honour through the mud time and again, while ignoring his wishes, so just… just shut up!”

Before Gordes could retort, Achilles laughed, “Well said, kid! Now, then, Saber of Black, let’s duel!” As he declared that, the tip of his spear started shining and he dropped it.

“_ Diatrekhōn Astēr Lonkhē _!”

* * *

**Xan: Apologies for the lateness of the chapter; I just recently moved and only got access to the internet and such over the weekend.**


	17. Chapter 14: The Gang Misses Fight Club

Chapter 14: The Gang Misses Fight Club

The pair of legendary warriors stood on an empty, lonely plain across from each other, one of them smiling while the other looked solemn. Achilles then held out his fist as he loudly declared, “I am Achilles, son of Peleus, Rider of Red! Let’s have a great duel!”

Siegfried bumped his fist against Achilles’ as Balmung dematerialized. “I am Siegfried, son of Siegmund, Saber of Black! May honor come to the victorious and defeated alike!”

Without a word, the Rider blitzed forward, driving his fist into Siegfried’s chin, sending his head cracking backwards. The hero of the Nibelungenlied replied by slamming a wild haymaker into Achilles’s stomach and sending him sliding back.

The son of Peleus retorted by driving his heel into Siegfried’s knee, sending him off balance which Achilles took advantage of to plunge his knee into the Saber’s stomach. Siegfried slammed his head into Achilles’ and the latter replied by driving a fist into his foe’s kidneys and then one into his face.

There was a disparity in the way the two fought, with Achilles flowing through the pankration forms that he’d been taught by Chiron while Siegfried could only brawl, having no real training in hand to hand combat. Still, the duo fought on, despite the seeming mismatch in skills, and the marks on them due to their recent struggles.

As Siegfried staggered back from the one-two combo he took, Achilles closed again and batted aside the Saber’s attempt to grapple him before sending a jab into the center of his chest. Siegfried’s breath exploded out of his lungs as he took the blow to his weak point, and was unable to react in time as Achilles wove into his guard and sent an uppercut into his chin.

The Saber was forced back and tried to regain his sloppy stance, only for Achilles to blow through it and send a hook into his chest. He tried to counter with a cross, only for his opponent to weave around it and slam a shovel hook into Siegfried’s liver.

The son of Peleus pushed his advantage, going into a flurry of blows that slammed into Siegfried’s chest, each earning a stuttering cough of blood. The Saber tried to strike back, but was unable to stop Achilles’ fist from slamming right through his chest, leaving no air left in his lungs as he tried to inhale.

Siegfried coughed again, but smiled through the pain as his arms fell to his side. He nodded as he slumped against the son of Peleus. “This was indeed a good fight. Thank you, Achilles. My only regret was that I could not match your skill.”

“Heh, you weren’t bad yourself,” Achilles replied, gently pulling his hand out of his foe’s chest and giving him a nod as the Noble Phantasm faded, pulling them back into reality.

Trent couldn’t help but blink as Siegfried began to fade, confusion crossing his features as he realized just what had happened. Despite the sudden solemn air, the Canuck was tempted to thrust his hands in the air and cheer. He restrained himself enough to lock eyes with Gordes and remark, “It would seem that the tables have turned, Gordes. I’d be happy to accept your surrender.”

“Wha- No! Saber, as your Master, I order you–”

The fat magus was interrupted by a squawk of his own making when a feather jabbed into his chest. It then ignited, causing the large man to panic as he tried to put out the flame burning on his chest.

Trent turned back to watch as Siegfried finally faded away entirely, leaving the world on his feet with a smile on his face as he scattered into golden motes of light, and nodded in respect to the fallen warrior.

Achilles then fell back with a chuckle, his arms falling limply out beside him as he hit the grass. He stared up at the sky, and sighed, “So, Chiron… do you think I did good? By Atalante?”

The horse-tailed Archer was at his student’s side in a matter of moments, a proud smile on his face. “You did, Achilles. I am sure that Atalante would be proud of what you have done; I know that I am. I am glad that I can call you my student.”

“You’re spoiling me, saying things like that, Chiron,” the Rider replied with a weak laugh, his body and magical energy giving out. As he, too, faded into golden particles, Chiron took one of Achilles’ hands in both of his and gripped it firmly. It quickly vanished, but the child of Kronos remained kneeling where his student had passed, a melancholic mix of pride and sorrow on his face.

The Canadian magus settled down into a squat and remarked, “Well, at least those two got the fight and sendoff they deserved. Woulda been a crying shame if this war ended as ingloriously as some of the incidents that I caused.”

The unnamed homunculus nodded somberly, then walked over to the still-floundering Gordes and kicked him directly in the dick. The portly magus doubled over, a whine like a deflating balloon escaping his throat.

“That’s for treating Sir Siegfried like a disposable tool,” he declared with a frown, then walked away from Gordes.

It was at that point that Astolfo trotted over and gave the homunculus a pat on the head, seemingly oblivious to the motes of light that were wafting off of his form. “Don’t worry, little guy! I’m sure that Ziggy is real happy with the thought, but if you stand too close then the fat man might roll into you and crush you!”

The homunculus snorted. “Maybe.” He then raised an eyebrow at the moon-brained Rider. “...Rider, you’re disintegrating.”

“Eh? I’m disincorporationing?” the Rider replied, before looking down at himself and jumping up. “Oh no, I’m turning into cheese dust! I’m gonna get trapped on the moon again! Save me; I’ll be your best friend!”

“How?” asked the nameless homunculus, genuine concern in his voice. “What do you need me to do?”

Trent couldn’t help the giggle that wormed its way out of his throat as he interjected, “Rider, you’re running out of mana because your dumb bitch Master died, you’d need to make a contract with someone to keep the supply up.”

“Eh? Wait, she’s dead? When did that happen? Who killed her? Oh god, who’ll go to her funeral? Because I’ll be honest, I’d only go if I could scam on cute girls,” Astolfo declared, clapping his hands onto his cheeks in panic, now caught up in the fact that his Master had died.

The Canadian nodded sagely, and agreed, “Honestly, I’d be in the same boat, my dude.”

The homunculus cleared his throat pointedly and asked, “Okay, but seriously; what can I do to help Rider? How can I form a contract with him?’

“Well, that’s the hard thing. You could easily do the summoning chant, and Astolfo could reply in kind to accept the contract, but the issue is that you lack Command Seals, as those stabilize the connection,” Trent explained, his hands coming up to point at his own Command Seals. 

As the two began to despair, Carmilla appeared from the aether and slapped a square of skin on his cheek. He replied by screeching and scraping it off his cheek. “Carmy you bitch! You got stupid bitch on me, ew ew ew!”

“Call it revenge for filling the back of the car with bird feathers,” the Assassin replied calmly, a small smile on her features.

The homunculus then picked up the Command Seals gingerly between two of his fingers, and asked, “So, um, what do I do with these now?”

“Um, well, we need to get those on your hand,” Trent hesitated, and then nodded firmly as an idea came to his mind. “Alright, so, put them on the back of your hand face up, and grit your teeth.”

As the homunculus did so, Trent pulled out a quartet of feathers and stabbed them into the corners of the skin square, causing him to squeak in pain. Electricity crackled between them, somehow melding the flesh together and grafting it there. Trent then pulled the feathers out, earning a pained gasp, and nodded, “Alright, now just perform the summoning chant and you two are good to go!”

“Yay! And there was a neat lightshow too,” the Rider cheered, looking entirely too cheerful despite his disappearing legs.

Trent then took the homunculus through the chant, gently bringing up his now burning hand to the proper position, and making sure he knew the words and the correct order. He then gracefully stepped back when the young looking man said he was ready, staring at Rider.

The nameless homunculus stood across from Astolfo, eyes closed as he raised his hand.

_ “Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let White be the color I pay tribute to. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.” _

An ethereal circle of white energy formed around them as the homunculus’ circuits ignited, causing him to grit his teeth in pain.

_ “Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate. Let it be declared now; your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth.” _

The light intensified and shifted, settling around Astolfo’s shoulders like a shawl even as it flowed like a river of stars from the homunculus’ shoulders.

_ “An oath shall be sworn here. I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven; I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell.” _

As his voice rose to a shout, the energy reached its climax as well.

_ “From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance!” _

With a sound between a shout and a scream, the light burned bright, then vanished. The formerly black Command Seals on the back of the homunculus’ hand blazed white, and he slumped forward, only to be caught in Astolfo’s deceptively toned arms.

The Rider laughed as he twirled the homunculus around, and cried, “Lookit me, Master! I’ve still got legs!” To illustrate the point, he did a small jump and let out a deep belly laugh.

“That’s...good...Rider,” the new Master wheezed, breathless from both the exhaustion of performing the summoning and because Rider was squeezing him harder than the Servant realized.

Astolfo then, let him down and did a bow as he introduced himself, “So, I’m Astolfo! A proud paladin of Charlemagne! It’s good to work with you, Master, especially given that you’re not gonna get chopped up by the fat man!”

“It’s good...to work with you too,” the homunculus gasped, slowly catching his breath. “I don’t have a name to give you, though.”

The Rider huffed as he put his hands on his hips and puffed his cheeks out as he remarked, “Well, that’s no good, Master! Everyone needs a name, and you especially, given that you’re _ my _ Master now, as I can’t just call you Master all the time! We’re not in that sort of relationship, at least not yet!”

The homunculus cocked his head, the innuendo lost on him. “Well, what should it be? I don’t know anything about names…”

“Hm, well, names are important, and you can’t have my name, that’d be weird…” Astolfo put a hand on his chin as he bounced on his toes, occasionally vocalizing the word ‘hum.’ “Well, what’re your friends’ names?”

“Friends…?” he muttered, then glanced at Trent. “Well, he’s Trent Blackmore, and the other guy’s named Johan Lewis...oh, and there’s Mister Shishigou, but I don’t know if I’d call him a friend, really…”

“Hum, hum, hum,” the pink-haired man declared, doing a little jig as he tried to think. “Well, Trunbor is out, Joloops is out, Shake-it-up is out… urgh, I dunno many good names, this is a pain.” As he complained, he put his hands on his head and mussed his hair horribly, before his eyes lit up. “That’s it! You’re Charlie Mann! I’m naming you after my good friend Charlemagne, I’m sure he’d be cool with it too!”

Despite the gravity of the situation, his hair was a complete mess, looking like he’d been outside during a hurricane.

“Charlie…” he said slowly, as though tasting the word. “I...I like it. Charlie it is.”

“Sounds good to me, Charlie-boy,” Trent remarked as he leaned over to wrap an arm around Carmilla. “Our little boy’s growing up and bringing home strange men who are giving him pet-names.”

Carmilla’s eyebrows rose, the smallest of smiles on her face as she replied, “This is why I can’t wait for the alimony to come through.” Trent recoiled in pain, acting like she’d just punched him in the gut, earning a chuckle from the Assassin.

Their friendly, if barbed banter was abruptly cut off as two distinct, inhuman noises echoed from the field. The first was familiar to Trent and Charlie, belonging to Hyde, but the other was alien. It was a rasping, deathly sound, as though a rotting corpse had screamed with a thousand blood-choked lungs at once; a cacophonous chorus of damned souls.

Trent then looked to Carmilla and laughed, “Well, well, looks like we might just miss the graveyard bash!”


	18. Chapter 15: Monster Mash

Chapter 15: Monster Mash

Vlad Tepes III stood over Fran, a cold, imperious glare on his face. “For your betrayal, the only penalty can be death,” he declared, raising a hand. “However, for your service to my lands in stopping that heretic’s advance, I shall at least make your death swift and painless.”

Fran stared up at him, defiance in her golden eyes, as she struggled but could not rise.

The Prince of Wallachia shook his head, a faint look of disappointment on his face. “What a shame. You would have served Wallachia well.” Then, he closed his hand into a fist.

At that very moment, a black blur slammed into Fran, bodily tackling her out of the way. A dark crimson spike transfixed it, halting it in its tracks and lifting it into the air to reveal the figure was, of course, Hyde, impaled through the gut by one of Vlad’s stakes.

Even as the Lancer looked on, Hyde’s side  _ opened _ , allowing the stake to slide out even as the beast’s flesh flowed over the wound, melding it shut as though it had never been opened in the first place. In the next instant, Hyde pounced, claws flashing at Vlad’s neck.

A flurry of stakes poured from the skies, slamming into the Berserker’s arms even as the Lancer of Black reared his arm back, spear at the ready. He stepped forward, driving his weapon forward as he tried to put the beast out of its misery, but Hyde was undeterred. Pierced flesh sloughed off, rapidly replaced by unblemished fur, and its very torso bent and warped hideously so the spear strike passed through empty air rather than its chest. Its arms, halted momentarily by the rain of spikes, abruptly stretched and savaged the Lancer’s chest. Hyde’s maw gaped wide as it let out a throaty snarl, covering Vlad in drool.

The Lancer scowled as he felt claws tear through his flesh, his eyes flashing as he jammed his spear into the beast’s repositioned chest and launched it away. Feeling the wounds start to close, he let loose a carpet of stakes, intent on forcing the beast to at least stumble over the spike covered ground.

Instead, Hyde merely slammed its clawed feet  _ through  _ the spikes, wounds opening and closing in nearly the same instant. There was a sucking noise as the spear in its chest was dragged through it by roiling tides of flesh and ejected from its back, launching it several meters away from the battle. In the same motion, Hyde launched itself forward, crossing the distance between them in the span of half a second. A wall of blood-colored spears rose to meet the werewolf, piercing it through in half a dozen places, but Hyde forced itself forward all the same.

Hyde slammed into Vlad, sinking its teeth into his trapezius and ripping out, taking a large chunk of flesh out of where the Lancer’s throat and shoulder met. At the same time, the flesh of the beast’s guts ballooned out, the spikes of Kazikli Bey ramming into their master’s chest.

Seconds later, the spikes dematerialized, but they were there long enough to have pierced deep into the Prince of Wallachia’s chest.

“Foul beast!” Vlad snarled as he allowed stakes to bleed from the wounds opened in his front, attempting to win the war of attrition he’d entered into with Hyde. Try as he might, he just couldn’t find a way to put it down for good.

At that very moment, the voice of his Master sounded in his head. The words Darnic spoke, though, filled him with burning rage.

_ “Lancer, by my Command Seal, activate your Noble Phantasm: Legend of Dracula.” _

Even as blood poured from his wounds, Vlad roared, “Darnic, you cur! You honourless scoundrel! I’ll have your head for this! Have you forgotten!? I will  _ never  _ use that Noble Phantasm, even if I die here and crumble away, with death and regret my burial shroud! You  _ dare  _ to try to force me to become such an unsightly thing!? Never, never, NEVER! I’m not a vampire! I’m...not…!”

Emotion was utterly absent from Darnic’s telepathic voice as he repeated,  _ “Lancer, by my second Command Seal, activate your Noble Phantasm: Legend of Dracula.” _

Vlad could only scream as the force of two Command Seals overwhelmed his will. His scream quickly warped and twisted, becoming the unnatural, unholy call of the grave. Even as his voice was corrupted, so too did his flesh morph and bend. From regal king to ravening monster did the Prince of Wallachia fall, becoming the very thing he reviled above all else.

Vlad Tepes III was no more; in his place, only Dracula remained.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Meanwhile, within the confines of Castle Yggdmillennia, Johan had parted ways with Fiore, Caules, and the homunculus named Toole. He swiftly made his way to the upper levels of the castle, following the path marked by shredded Bounded Fields and destroyed traps that Mordred and Kairi had left in their wake.

It seemed that a Magic Resistance of B-rank and a professional mercenary’s savvy made a powerful combination when assaulting the home of a magus.

After climbing a fourth flight of stairs, Johan was getting rather irritated by the size of Darnic’s lair. Really, how much space could half a dozen people  _ possibly _ need? Grumbling under his breath, Johan rounded a corner and came upon a long corridor. It stretched perhaps fifty meters before him, and at the very end stood a pair of towering wooden doors. A familiar pair of figures stood before the doors, one tall and wearing a black leather coat, the other short and clad in armor from head to toe.

Johan fished his grimoire out of his jacket and jogged up behind the duo. Kairi glanced towards him, his hand briefly going to the handle of the shotgun strapped to his back before relaxing. Mordred, on the other hand, looked back at him and barked, “C’mon, skinny! We got a job to do, especially if we’re gonna rub your shithead friend’s face in our progress!”

Johan snorted, and opened his Mystic Code to a particular page. “Ready whenever you are, Saber, Mr. Shishigou.”

“Good!” Mordred replied before turning and booting the doors to reveal Darnic standing with his arm raised high, mouth open and the second Command Seal upon it burning away.

The blue haired man turned towards them and scowled, an ugly expression on his face as he took them in. Even as he opened his mouth, presumably to incant, Kairi’s gun snapped up and fired, several rotting fingers rocketing towards his head at bullet speeds. 

_ “Schild,” _ Darnic snapped, a golden barrier snapping into being and stopping the finger-bullets millimeters in front of his face. “Miserable dogs of the Mage’s Association; you have been a thorn in my sid—”

It was at that point that Clarent crashed through the barrier and stabbed through Darnic’s chest, Mordred having thrown it at him. She charged forward and grabbed the hilt before he could so much as gasp, ripped it out and lopped his head off, letting loose a spray of blood.

Even as Darnic’s mangled corpse collapsed to the ground, an indistinct silver-grey shape rose from it and shot towards Kairi. A distorted voice howled, “I’ll not die so easily, you wretched pleb—”

Once more, Darnic’s ranting was cut short, but this time by Johan. The tome that lay open in his left hand glowed with an unearthly light as the Master of Hyde cycled his prana through the book, through his body, and up his outstretched right arm. His fingers curled into claws as his magic took hold of the ectoplasm that made up Darnic’s spiritual form, and then he snapped his fingers.

_ “Geistflame.” _

The faux-lich screamed as the fabric of his soul was converted into spiritual fire, only for it to be abruptly silenced as Clarent claimed the head of the same Nazi for the second time. In the next few seconds, the ectoplasm burned away into particles of stray mana, leaving behind a merrily burning Persian rug.

Johan snapped the grimoire shut, closed off his circuits, and exhaled shakily.

The Saber shouldered her blade as she looked about with a scowl, blood dripping down its length. “So, we done here? Can we go and make sure that I can make my wish?”

Kairi snorted, then pulled out a cigarette, considered the burning rug, then shrugged and lit it on the fire. After taking a long drag and stomping the embers to cinders, he replied, “Yeah, might as well.” He glanced over to Johan, then offered, “Not bad, kid.”

Johan let out a shaky laugh. “If you say so.”

After taking another puff of his cigarette, Kairi nodded, and led the way out of Darnic’s chamber. Mordred fell into step beside him, and Johan brought up the rear, still off-balance.

Someone burning to death wasn’t a pleasant sound; who knew?

His attention was sharply torn from  _ that _ lovely thought by his circuits beginning to burn. This was concerning, as it meant that Berserker had burned through  _ both _ of the Spirit Cores he’d consumed. With a wince, Johan covered one eye with a hand and peered through the eye of his Servant with the other...

-x-x-x-x-x-

The fields had become a hellscape, the crossroads between a charnelhouse and a burned crater. Fran watched from afar as blood fountained from Hyde and Dracula alike, staining burned grass and charred soil a deep, unnatural crimson.

What was occuring could not be described as a duel or a battle; no, this was nothing more than an animalistic contest of mutilation, as the two ripped and tore at each other with primal abandon.

Pure, blind rage poured through Hyde’s form as it rippled into a variety of monstrous implements, each more lethal than the last as it tried to flay its foe to pieces.

Dracula was a storm of regret and blood, batlike apparitions pouring off his body as tears of blood welled from his eyes. His mouth was set in a fanged grimace, while his clawed hands reached out to tear apart his foe, roaring, “Though Darnic forced this upon me, I shall rebel in my own way! I shall kill you, Berserker of Red! And though I might follow after you, Darnic shall not tarnish my honour any further!”

In the face of Dracula’s rage, all Hyde replied with was a hideous howl. Its forearms split at the elbow, claws stretching and warping to dig deeper into Dracula’s guts in four places. At the same time, three spines burst from the base of Hyde’s neck and shot through its opponent’s torso, bone spikes erupting from each of the vertebrae as the three tailbones encircled and pierced Dracula’s throat in three spots like a collar from hell.

The Lancer let out a gurgle as his blood steamed in the air, phantasmal bats pulling from his flesh and tearing into Hyde even as stakes poured from their bodies. His hands plunged into Hyde’s chest and he manifested yet more of his stakes within the beast. The gurgle surged into a howl as he tried to bring Hyde down.

The battle had long since changed from one between warriors, to two monsters trying to tear their prey apart. And with Hyde riding the fumes of Karna’s Spirit Core and Dracula in the seat of his power, the macabre melee seemed nowhere near its conclusion.

Nowhere near, that is, until a figure appeared at the top of the hill overlooking Castle Yggdmillennia.

As Chiron crested the hill, his eyes fell upon the twin monsters. Realizing the situation in an instant, he drew back his bow, then took his fingers away from the string and pointed them to the stars.

_ “As long as there is a night sky, 'the star of the archer always aims at the scorpion.'" _

A pillar of light descended from the stars, the very sky shaking as the heavenly centaur loosed his bolt, and the moon twinkled in pride for its student’s choice.

In the next instant, the Antares Snipe met its mark without fail, scorching a hole through the Son of the Dragon’s torso so wide that only bare scraps of skin and muscle remained to hold his head to his neck. Hyde’s claws were incinerated as well, but they regenerated in short order as Dracula tumbled to the ground, everything between his sternum and his pelvis simply  _ gone. _

Despite his lack of lungs with which to speak, the Prince of Darkness managed to let out a dying wheeze. “Is this your pity, Archer? Is this the final stroke, to let me be given respite from this curse for just a while longer? If it is…then I cannot count the ways in which I hate you, the curses I would pile up at your feet! If only…if only…”

As his head started to fade away, he managed one final sentence.

“If only you’d loosed your arrow before Darnic’s order had been completed…”

Despite the distance between them, Chiron heard every word that had passed the Lancer’s lips, and bowed his head.

“A man should be given the dignity to die as a  _ man, _ not a demon. I am sorry, Prince of Wallachia, that I did not arrive sooner.”


	19. Chapter 16: A Preteen Struggles to Take Horsecock

Chapter 16: A Preteen Struggles to Take Horsecock

As Chiron stood where Vlad had once been, Hyde’s form warped and shrank, bloodstained fur and muscle melting away and being replaced by Jekyll’s clothes, wrinkled but unmarred by gore.

The Berserker ran a gloved hand through his hair, then turned and jogged up the hill to Fran. 

Slumped on his knees, hands shaking before him as he stared at the place where Siegfried had passed, Gordes was still visibly stunned.

Trent looked to Carmilla as he rubbed at the Command Seals emblazoned on the back of his hand and remarked, “It’s almost time, Carmy. You ready to live as a human in the modern world?”

“I suppose,” the Assassin replied as she let her eyes trail over Charlie and Astolfo, who were currently talking about Charlemagne. Or rather, the Rider was animatedly describing the various Paladins and peers of his king, all of whom sounded about as wackadoodle as Astolfo.

“Then again, I don’t know if I’m quite ready to deal with those two for the rest of it, even if it’s part of the cost for my new lease on life.”

The blond magus chuckled before reaching out and patting her shoulder. “Eh, we’ll get through that together, just like how we got through this war.”

“Sounds positively dreadful,” Carmilla sighed, a fond smile present on her face despite her tone.

At that moment, a loud roar echoed from the forest. Not the roar of a monster or a Berserker, though. This was something far, far worse.

“Wahoo!” Mordred whooped as she drove a large ATV over the hill, getting at least five seconds of air. Trent and Carmilla could see the panic-stricken faces of Kairi, Johan, and Caules in the back seat of the vehicle. Fiore, though, was seated in the front seat, and seemed to be enjoying the ride if the manic smile on her face was anything to go by.

In the next moment, the ATV slammed into the ground right in front of Trent, its axles groaning in protest.

The Musik magus remained unmoving despite the commotion, letting out a wheeze as he finally did some form of strangled respiration.

“I’d say that this is unexpected, but given just what I know of Saber of Red…” the Canadian trailed off as he covertly tried to hide the almost pants-shitting terror he’d just experienced. “So, given everything that happened, I suppose that our allies were successful. Hey, everything work out for you nerds?”

Johan was just a  _ bit _ too busy hyperventilating to answer, but Kairi managed a gruff, if shaky, “Aye. We killed the old lich twice, and…”

He trailed off, and looked over at Fiore, who chipperly continued, “And  _ we _ managed to save some of the homunculi.” Her face sobered. “ _ Only _ some of them, though. About half of them were drained of all of their mana by Lancer of Black’s Noble Phantasm, and they...didn’t make it.”

“That is… unfortunate,” Trent admitted as he scratched at his chin, while he didn’t know anything about the homunculi, it was still a huge amount dead. “Did any of those who survived have any sort of plan?”

Charlie looked at Fiore expectantly, who nodded. “Indeed. I’ve left one of them in charge; Toole, I believe her name is. She’s going to sell off all the garish, frankly unnecessary decorations that grand—that  _ Darnic _ filled his castle with, so that they have enough money to take care of the ones that need attention, and so they can buy food and sundry.” She jerked a thumb at the back of the ATV. “We also took a fair number of priceless antiques and Mystic Codes when we left, so Caules and I will have all the funds we require.”

“Hey, nice, sounds like you guys have all the makings of a decent nest egg,” the Canadian said as he put his hands on his hips. “And hell, you’ll probably make Darnic spin in his non-existent grave by doing so, which is great.”

Fiore let out a wry chuckle. “Indeed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with my uncle.” She turned to where Gordes knelt, still shaken and not stirring at all.

“Uncle Gordes!” She raised her voice slightly as she walked, an authoritative tint to her normally gentle voice.

The large blond let out a noise, but his gaze was still distant and unresponsive.

Fiore sighed, then made a gesture. A massive metal arm extended from the Mystic Code on her back, then snapped out and grabbed Gordes by the collar and lifted him to his feet with a none-too-gentle shake. “Pull yourself together!” she snapped. “Are you a mouse? Or are you the head of the esteemed Musik family, and proud father of Goredolf Musik?!”

“Brfh!” Gordes let out a noise, and shook his head, ignoring the grip holding him up. “Fiore, what are you doing here? Have you come to help us retake victory from these scoundrels?”

Fiore tilted her head in confusion, then sighed and set him on his feet. “No, Uncle Gordes. I joined with the White faction in exchange for them healing my legs.” She gestured to how she was standing unaided by her Mystic Code. “Darnic is dead, and the only Servants left that even desire the Grail are Mister Shishigou’s Saber and my Archer.”

“And that is why my own interference has come to a close,” Jeanne interjected as she strode forward to join the group. “Despite the sheer number of Servants remaining, if they intend to forfeit the Grail, then I shall watch over the proceedings.”

“You call it forfeiting, I call it being happy with incarnation,” Carmilla scoffed as she eyed the Ruler, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Though, I suppose that a bumpkin would have issues understanding such intricacies.”

Jeanne shot an unamused look at Carmilla, before replying, “Regardless, if your goals no longer require the Grail, then it is not my place to interfere, praise, or condemn.” She turned to look between Chiron and Mordred. “Now then. Saber of White, Archer of White. As the Ruler-class Servant and moderator, I shall observe the final battle of this Grand Grail War, as well as the wish that is made at its conclusion.”

The Assassin huffed, and muttered to her Master, “To think, her showing up as a Ruler would steal her crusader’s fire.”

Jeanne’s eye twitched, but did not deign to reply to the blatant jab.

Mordred looked at Chiron, then glanced at Fiore. “No hard feelings when I beat yer Servant into the ground, eh missy?”

Fiore gave a demure smile. “I think you’ll find my Archer no easy battle, but on my honor as the heir to the Forvedge family, when my Servant wins, I will turn the wish over to Mister Shishigou, as promised.”

Mordred barked a laugh. “You’ve got spunk, girl. I don’t hate it!”

By this time, Chiron had finished his vigil and walked over to face Mordred. “Saber,” he said with a nod, shouldering his bow and taking a Pankration stance.

“Ah? You expectin’ ta take me with yer fists? Heh, you’re a funny one, but I’ll show you why ain’t nobody in Camelot could handle me!” Mordred roared as she surged forward, and as she closed, faked out a slash before jumping up and trying to plant her foot in the center of Chiron’s chest.

Chiron’s hand smoothly snapped up to wrap around her ankle, and the Archer turned with the momentum of the kick to sling Saber into a nearby hill. The moment after she left his hand, his bow was already drawn, and then six arrows were following after her before she’d even touched down.

The Saber blasted out of her impact crater almost as it formed, red lightning exploding off of her body and shattering the arrows as she heaved her sword over her shoulder, wreathing it in energy. “You think that’ll be enough?!” As Mordred shouted, she brought her sword around and unleashed a blast of power, intending on vapourizing Chiron.

Chiron, though, was already moving, and all but danced out of the way of the energy wave before firing another half-dozen arrows at the Knight of Treachery. When these met the same fate as their predecessors, though, they burst, peppering Mordred with small explosions of starlight.

The Saber just kept bulling forward, her armour absorbing most of the damage, though one explosion managed to bruise and cut up her face. Laughing as she tried to corner the Archer, she allowed more energy to enshroud Clarent as she swung it about.

Chiron threw his bow aside as he bent over backwards under the sword strike, then came back up within her guard and slammed his fists into her gut. As she staggered back, clutching her abdomen, she noticed the broken shafts of arrows poking out through her armor.

The cheeky bastard had punched her with his arrows like they were punch daggers! Mordred gave a savage grin and charged, even as the arrowheads in her guts detonated, scorching her with searing starlight. Ignoring the pain, her hand locked around his arm and brought Clarent down on his shoulder with a savage roar of victory.

His arm went flying, but Chiron wasn’t down yet. He clenched his muscles and closed off the wound, even as he smashed Mordred in the face with his remaining hand before sweeping her feet.

Despite her bleeding and crumpled nose, Mordred barked out a laugh as she launched herself back to her feet and drove her fist towards Chiron’s solar plexus. Not happy with just that, she also aimed to take off the Mentor of Heroes’ head with her sword.

Chiron leaned into the first blow, allowing himself to be folded over Mordred’s fist rather than losing his head. Even as his breath was blown out of his lungs, he threw an uppercut directly into Mordred’s elbow, jarring her grip on Clarent. Before she could regain her grip on it, the son of Kronos spun into a two-footed drop kick that knocked her onto her rear, Clarent sinking into the ground a few meters away.

Ignoring her sword, the Saber let out a snarl as she launched herself forward, slamming her head into the Archer’s chin. Before he could throw her off, she wrapped one of her arms around his torso and drove her clawed gauntlet into his open wound, intent on tearing through it and ripping out his heart.

Chiron let out a roar of pain as he reached up and scrabbled at her face, pressing into her eye with his thumb. Before he could gouge her eye out, though, Mordred’s gauntlet pierced the wound, and with a feral roar, she ripped his Spirit Core from his chest.

Chiron gasped, blood dripping from his mouth. “Well...fought...Mordred…”

“Heh, you were… a pretty good fight, Chiron,” Mordred laughed nasally, her broken nose still unhealed. She collapsed down into a sitting position, and chuckled. “I did it… I won, I’m gonna be king now…”

Chiron gave a wet, wheezing chuckle. “I’m...sure...you’ll do fine…”

As he looked to the night sky in his final moments, he stretched his arm out as though grasping for something. “Ah...the stars...are beautiful...tonight…” He let out another wet cough, then started as he felt two small, gentle hands clasp around his own large, callused one.

Fiore knelt beside Chiron, unshed tears in her eyes. “You did well, Chiron.”

The words were simple, but they brought the Son of Kronos great relief nonetheless. “Thank you...my kind Master…”

And with those last words, the Mentor of Heroes closed his eyes, fading away into golden prana.

The blonde knight sat up and grinned at Kairi. “Master, we can get the Grail now, get your skeleton daughter back.”

Kairi pinched his nose and sighed deeply.  _ “I’m too old for this shit.” _


	20. Epilogue: First, We Need To Talk About Parallel Universes

Epilogue: First, We Need To Talk About Parallel Universes

One by one, the remaining Masters other than Kairi held the hands bearing their Command Seals up, with Trent coaching Charlie. As one, they chanted the same words, with only some minor differences in their wording.

“By the power of the Command Seal, I order you to incarnate. With the second Command Seal, I repeat my command, incarnate. I sacrifice the final Command Seal and enforce my will: incarnate upon this world in full.”

One by one, the Seals erupted in crimson light before winking out, the Servants subjected to those orders finding their bodies turning to proper flesh and blood. All of them had differing responses, checking out their new bodies in different ways.

Astolfo rubbed his hands searchingly up and down his body, did a pirouette, and then launched onto Charlie in crushing embrace. “Lookit, Charlie, I’m a real boy now! But don’t ask me to prove it to you out here, I’m not a weirdo-pervert like Roland who runs around outside all nudelike! I only do that with really pretty people who I wanna ride like the Hippogriff, or Bradamante, but don’t tell her that, because she’s married!”

Charlie, for his part, was caught between being red with embarrassment and grey with confusion. The homunculus found himself almost dizzy as he tried and failed to follow the eccentric Paladin’s perpetually derailed train of thought.

Frankenstein’s Monster, not truly feeling much of a difference, let out a low grunt of confusion. She then started to grab at her cheeks and pinch them, taking an odd enjoyment from the elasticity of her flesh. “Hmm, hmm.” She hummed in satisfaction, before looking down at her legs and grunting in surprise upon noticing that she had retained the flesh that she’d had when she was Eve.

Promptly, Fran plopped down on the grass and started playing with her toes, humming in concentration as she examined the strange, stubby foot-fingers. Caules just let out a weak chuckle at the sight, finding it too cute to really protest.

Jekyll, for his part, glanced at his goddaughter and gave a small smile, before turning away from the group. He rolled up his sleeve, removed his glove, and focused intensely on his right hand. With a series of wet and meaty pops and the groan of stretching bone and sinew, a black-furred claw took the place of his hand.

After a moment, the good doctor winced, and allowed the partial transformation receded. He glanced at Johan as he righted his clothes. “It would seem,” he said, pulling on his glove, “that incarnation has made Hyde fully a part of me once more. I seem to have far better control of the transformation than I did in life, however.”

Johan cupped his chin in thought. “Well...I suppose that’s a good thing, right?”

Jekyll gave a half-shrug. “I suppose; it will remain to be seen if I have cause to let Hyde out again…”

Trent just looked over to his own partner and asked, “So, you all good, Carmy?”

“I suppose,” the silver-haired woman replied as she held her hands out in front of her and flexed her fingers, studying her nails. Giving a few more stretches and odd noises that caused the Canadian’s eyebrows to quirk up. “Honestly, I can’t help but dread the amount of maintenance I’ll have to put in to keep looking as stunning as I do.”

“Glad you got your priorities in order, Carmy,” Trent remarked flatly, entirely unsurprised by her vanity.

The vampiress let out an airy laugh, “At least this time I won’t be bleeding virgins dry.”

“Yes, I’d heard that’s so last century,” the blond retorted dryly, causing his former partner to chuckle.

Off to the side, Fiore looked upon the proceedings with a melancholic smile. For a moment, she looked up to the stars, and her eyes fixed on a particular constellation, its bow drawn. Then the moment passed, as moments do, and Fiore walked down the hill to join her brother and his precocious charge.

-x-x-x-

Staring up at the glowing golden orb, Mordred let a savage grin cross her features, a gauntleted hand waving up at the Greater Grail. “There it is, the Grail! We got it, Master!”

“...Yeah. Yeah, we did,” Kairi replied, far more subdued than Mordred had ever seen him. Before she even had time to comment, though, he visibly took a deep breath, stiffened his shoulders and looked up at the Grail. “Do you wanna go first, or should I?”

“Go ahead, Master!” the Saber declared loudly, planting her hands on her hips. “There should be lotsa people around to see my coronation!”

It was at that point that the others burst in, all of them seriously out of breath from having scrambled to reach the chamber of the Greater Grail. Trent held up a hand weakly as he coughed, “W-wait, we wanna see this shit! It’ll be the third and fourth actual successful wishes made upon winning a Grail War. We didn’t even really see Billy make his wish, so does it even count…”

Johan nodded. “It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call this occasion monumental.” He then scratched the back of his head and hefted his grimoire. “Plus, if the notes in  _ this _ are any indication, even being able to study what’s left after the Grail is activated would be  _ incredibly  _ useful.”

After the disastrous duo made their entrance, the other survivors of this mess of a war piled into the room one after the other. Astolfo, of course, was immediately drawn to the shiniest thing in the room: the Greater Grail. However, when he got too close, Mordred let out a growl.

The moon-brained man then showed a frankly astonishing amount of common sense, backing up away from the Grail with a nervous chuckle and both hands raised in surrender. Charlie sighed, and led his wayward partner by the hand over to the side of the chamber.

Fiore, Caules, and Fran were next to file in, and took their places next to Charlie and Astolfo with far less fanfare and tomfoolery than the Paladin (who was even now rocking back and forth on his heels, a giddy grin on his face) had.

Carmilla strolled leisurely in behind them, a self-assured strut causing her hips to sway back and forth, enjoying the weight behind every step. Had they been in public, she’d probably have caused people to walk into various obstacles, but they were lucky that was not the case.

Bringing up the rear was an amusing sight: the homunculus that Fiore had mentioned earlier, Toole, had hefted the considerable girth of Gordes over her shoulder like he was nothing more than a sack of clothes. Behind her, Jekyll completed the bizarre parade, a bemused expression on his face.

Kairi tilted his shades down to regard each of the Masters in turn—or rather,  _ former _ Masters, as evidenced by the patches of unblemished skin where each of their sets of Command Seals had once been. “...If you’ve gotta watch, at least keep it quiet.” He reached into his jacket and retrieved a worn, faded photograph, before walking forward to place his hand on the Grail.

None present but he could see the conversation he had with the consciousness sealed within the Grail, but within moments, a golden, pure light filled the room. After it faded, those who looked on could see that Kairi was kneeling. In his arms was a slight girl swaddled in his heavy leather jacket, having been hastily covered before the light had faded.

On the other hand, as Mordred grinned up at the grail, golden light flittered down from it to forge a path. At the end of the gilded walkway was a simple glade, surrounded by trees; the only thing it contained was a sword, stabbed into a block of white stone that rested in the very center.

Her armour faded off her form as she confidently strode toward the block, her red loincloth fluttering around behind her. Standing before it, her smile was almost bright enough to eclipse the sun as she walked around it to face them, ensuring that all of them could see her.

With poise, elegance, pomp and circumstance that the others didn’t know she had, Mordred gently wrapped her right hand around Caliburn’s hilt. She pulled gently, and the blade came free with no noise as she flipped it upright.

She frowned at the blade and loudly remarked, “The hell? It’s way too light…”

It was at that point there was a rush of air, and the blade literally deflated like the balloon it was.

Staring at the balloon, the girl’s mouth moved up and down as the scene broke down into pink petals. Her head whipped around, and her face was warped between burning rage and soul-crushing sadness, the fake weapon still gripped tightly in her hand.

Nobody said anything.

Nobody _could_ say anything.

Some of them were mortified, some of them were stupefied, while Carmilla looked like she was about to burst out laughing.

There was a high-pitched animal’s cry and a grunt of pain as a whiteclad man fell out from behind a pillar rubbing at a newly forming bruise. “Curse you, Cath Palug! Have you no sense of gravitas and mystique?”

The man himself was a tall, fair-skinned man with white hair and an easy smile on his face. He wore white and pink robes, with baby blue accents, over top of a pair of billowing black pants and a set of sturdy black boots. He offered them an enchanting smile as he greeted them, “Yo everybody, think my set up would work for Punk’d?”

“You shitty bastard! How dare you embarrass me like that!” Mordred roared, her cheeks flushing red as Clarent replaced the fake Merlin had prepared. “I’ll kill you for this!”

“Now, now, Mordred, I did that for your own good,” the Magus of Flowers replied, his smile staying in place despite his grip tightening on his staff. “The course of Camelot  _ needs _ to happen, despite our own wants and desires.”

“Huh?! I’d be a way better king, then father was! This was my chance to prove that! To prove that I’m worthy!” the preteen cried, tears actually starting to build up in the corners of her eyes.

Merlin just sighed as he strolled forward, Cath Palug nipping at his heels and kicking him. “We both know that you’re not admitting the truth of your feelings on the matter, Sir Mordred. You want Arturia’s acknowledgment, and believe that becoming king would earn that recognition. That won’t happen, for one simple reason. Arturia came to see herself as unworthy, and basing your reason for being worthy as your being her child…”

“Shut up!” Mordred roared as she brought her sword down, crimson lightning sweeping out toward the half-incubus but breaking just before him, where a small carpet of flowers had started to bloom.

The former court wizard of Camelot sighed again as he strode forward, his hand coming down to rest on the Saber’s head. “Take my advice, Mordred: live a little in this modern world, maybe learn some of the lessons that Arturia once did.” As he said that, he offered a wink to the dimensionally displaced pair. “Let that Kairi fellow help you understand some of the things that Morgan kept you from learning, along with the rest of these… colourful characters.”

Despite the gravity of his words, Cath Palug did an uppercut to his knee, forcing him to balance on one foot.

As Mordred let out a grunt and tried to stab Merlin, who simply flickered out of existence to allow it to pass through the space he had occupied. The small blonde huffed, “Fine…”

Before anyone could interject, the Grail gleamed with unspent energy. This time, though, the light that emitted was anything but pure. As a malicious, abyssal unlight swathed the room, space itself bent, groaned, then  _ tore _ .

The world shrieked in agony as speed itself took form and ripped into existence, a vast void coloured by an inexplicable wash of un-colour left in its wake. A thick, bushy moustache was perched over a slavering maw, its eyes, beady though they were, pulsed with eldritch might and hellish lust.

Astolfo cried in recognition, “Ah! That’s the Wahoo-Monster that I slammed through when I tried to get into the naked-Roland-Adam-man’s zone!”

The demon’s arm shot out, but before it could capture anyone, a wall of pink petals shot into existence between it and the majority of the group. Still, that left Trent, Johan, Charlie, and Astolfo in the monstrosity’s immediate range.

While they would have loved to be paralyzed, they couldn’t allow that to happen in the face of such a threat. With their backs against the proverbial wall, a yawning maelstrom of interdimensional confluence and energies thrashing behind them and the malevolent beast in front of them, they had few options.

“Guys, I say we try and jump backwards,” Astolfo advised, his expression unusually serious as he stared down the monster before them. “We can’t go forwards, and our only escape…”

“Is behind us,” Trent finished, the bottom of his stomach feeling like it had dropped out. “All together?”

Johan swallowed heavily, and clutched his tome to his chest. “I-I don’t like it, but what else is there?”

Charlie nodded firmly, a desperate fire in his eyes. He had the look of someone who’d finally had their life in their own hands, only to have it endangered immediately. “Let’s go.”

As one, they lept backwards. Time lost all meaning as they were swallowed by a vortex of sheer energy, and the world they had come to know was seemingly erased from existence.

The last thing they saw before their vision faded, was an immense tornado of fur, fang, and claw meeting the demon and shearing through it.

The final sound to ring out in their ears could only be the horror’s death [rattle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-YFRv9mhsY&feature=youtu.be).

* * *

**AN: And so, our “heroes’” journey in the Great Holy Grail War comes to a close. But do not cry; their dubious adventure will soon continue in…**

** _“It’s Always Horny On Main (In Kuoh)”_ **


	21. Epilogue Two: Fuyuki Boogaloo

**Epilogue Two: Fuyuki Boogaloo**

Standing outside the gates of Homurahara Academy, Mordred ‘Mo Shishigou’ Pendragon crossed her arms as she gazed up at the institution of learning.

She didn’t like it.

She didn’t like the fact that she had to go to school, but it was either that, or get a job right away, because Kairi kept going on that she was being a bad influence on his daughter. It wasn’t her fault that no one was hiring knights nowadays! Other peoples’ shit taste was the problem, not her skills.

It was even worse that she couldn’t drag those siblings along with her! How the hell had they already graduated high school? They looked super young! All the nerdy one did was click away on his computer, while the cute one was trying to learn!

So deep in her thoughts was she that she didn’t notice a student walking up beside her and dropping his hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump away, fists raised. “Ha? The hell d’you want, ya bastard?!”

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t recognize you and wanted to know if you needed help,” the young man replied, putting his hands up. The redhead offered her a weak smile as he continued, “Still, if you’re alright, I’ll lea—”

Before he could finish, a pair of strident voices called out, “Sherou!” Twin blurs of gold and black smashed into the young man, and they resolved themselves into two young ladies in the Homurahara uniform. Their ringlets were seemingly glowing in the early morning light, and they were certainly a pair of well-developed young women, something that Mordred appreciated even if she was now being totally ignored.

There was a loud scoff and another black haired girl appeared, this one with twintails and slightly less developed compared to the other two. She shook her head as she walked by the scene, declaring loudly, “To think that the Edelfelt heiresses would be so crude as to try and blatantly seduce a man this early in the morning.”

“Oh, Miss Tohsaka, I didn’t notice you there!” the blonde laughed, lifting her hand up in front of her mouth. “It must be so difficult, being such a gorilla that you see a simple display of friendship as seduction. Then again, you probably would need to physically drag a man off if you ever wanted to get married!”

“Indeed, as my elder sister says, your own ill-nature is not something you should try and thrust upon us,” the black-haired twin chimed in, her mouth curled into a cruel smile.

The so-called Tohsaka snarled, “Oh, like you two have any room to talk! What about how you two are dragging Enjou around forcing him to carry things for you!”

Mordred stared at the scene, a sense of familiarity overtaking her as she slowly nodded. This Enjou guy was just like Gareth, gathering up people around him and all of them getting into fights for his attention.

The Saber shook her head.

Hopefully he wouldn’t prove to be as fun to hang out with as the puppy had been.

-x-x-x-

Halfway across the world, in an empty office lit by candlelight, Henry Jekyll bent over a table, studying a number of documents intently. That midnight had come and passed did not register to him, so intent on his research was he.

It had been five months since the Great Holy Grail War had come and gone. Five months since Jekyll and Hyde alike were granted a human form once more. Five months since he’d been summoned by a desperate, confused, but ultimately kind magus (and wasn’t  _ that _ an oxymoron).

_ Five months since his Master, his  _ partner _ , had vanished into an unspeakable void. _ Henry Jekyll did not consider himself a particularly sentimental man. Certainly, the purpose of his original elixir was to free mankind of their darkness, but in truth, that had been more out of self-loathing than out of altruism. And look just how well  _ that _ had worked out for him...

Jekyll shook his head.

_ The point was _ , Henry Jekyll did not find himself becoming attached to people particularly often. The number of genuine bonds he had formed during his life could be counted on his hands with multiple fingers left over.

All the same, here he was. In a research lab,  _ generously _ provided by the  _ good people _ of the Clock Tower in exchange for his expertise in alchemic matters…

Jekyll raised his eyes from his papers as he heard the door of his office creak open. His gaze met the icy scowl of a blonde woman. She had an air of disdain and malice around her as she strutted forward, bejeweled cane in hand. Henry’s hand dipped into one pocket and closed around a scalpel. It was time for one of  _ those _ incidents again, wasn’t it?

He opened his mouth to speak, to give her the courtesy of backing out, but it was futile. Before a single word could escape his mouth, she tossed her head back and cut him off, looking down her nose as a contemptuous drawl escaped her mouth as she gestured grandly with her cane. “Be grateful, plebeian, for your sorry existence shall finally be given meaning! I, Giselle Basterbine El-Melloi, shall—”

Her speech was cut short with the clang of metal as the Phantom Maiden burst into existence behind her, not giving the woman a chance to scream. Strutting into the room as the iron maiden faded out of sight, Carmilla gently brushed her hair out of her face.

Looking like she had just stepped off the runway, clad in the latest fashions, able to draw any eye she might desire. Still, despite all that, the air of danger she carried with her was lingering like a mist.

A moment of silence passed between the two, and the Assassin spoke, “Berserker, it’s been a while since we last met.”

The man’s fingers loosened around the scalpel, and he leaned back against the wall. “Indeed,” he replied, adjusting his tie as he glanced between the other former Servant and her Noble Phantasm. “Third time this month,” he muttered, “what are they  _ teaching _ these magi if not common sense?” 

He shook his head tiredly before returning his attention to Carmilla. “It pains me to admit it, but I have hit a wall.”

“Would you care to explain?” the former Bathory inquired, considering just how much the Berserker must have cleaned his office, given that she couldn’t smell any blood in the room.

Jekyll blinked, then pinched his brow. “Of course, of course. Apologies, it has been a long...well, a long few months, really.” He pushed off the wall and began to pace, fingers interlaced behind him. “For the most part, the issue lies with the limitations of Magecraft. Certainly, Magi guard their mysteries like dragons guard their hoards, but…” He gave a mirthless smile. “My particular talents are not of inconsiderable worth.” His smile faded. “Especially since the particular branch of Magecraft that I require is considered a dead-end.

“To be sure, spatial manipulation and dimensional folding are both things  _ achievable  _ with Magecraft, but only within the boundaries of the World. What happened that day, what we  _ need _ , is not something within the grasp of modern Magi.”

“Of course, that is something that we cannot forget, but, isn’t the Old Man of the Jewels a professor here?” Carmilla asked, crossing her arms as she did so. “I’ll be able to keep the cashflow up so long as we need it. Despite our various differences, those two were…” the Assassin trailed off, shaking her head. “Well, we have our reasons for this line of inquiry.”

Jekyll nodded. “And therein lies the second issue. Certainly, the Kaleidoscope would be able to aid us, but gaining his attention is a task in and of itself. One cannot simply stride up to one of the only two Sorcerers in the world and ask for an audience, nevermind that he is scarcely present here in the first place.  _ He _ needs to come to  _ us _ . Hence,” he waved a hand at his studies, “my research. But…”

Jekyll slumped over his desk, pressing his palms into the wood. “I am no Caster, despite my skills with alchemy.”

“A conundrum indeed,” the vampiress murmured, a single perfectly manicured nail coming up to scratch at her chin. “Perhaps the string of dead students will eventually draw his attention? It seemed to work out well enough for Trent, despite his eccentricities.”

Henry Jekyll barked a laugh, then sobered. “Somehow, I doubt it; backstabbing is part and parcel of this blasted institution, doubly so because every last one of them has been a second child or worse.” He shook his head sadly. “They are so damnably desperate to prove they’re worthy that there’s scarcely a week that goes by that one fails to tear another apart for scraps.”

“Maybe you should go for a record? See about trying to kill as many in a month, or maybe set up an impossible death course, saying that the winner will get some big prize?” Carmilla suggested, one hand raised up. “Of course, the prize would be more of your attention in class, because all the others would be dead, but they don’t know that.”

Henry raised his head and sent the Assassin a gimlet stare.

“I’m not wrong,” she declared unapologetically.

The Berserker straightened, and let out a sigh. “ _ Leaving aside my moral objections to that idea for the moment... _ That might attract attention, this is true, but I somehow doubt that even the most grotesque massacre would serve as even the faintest distraction from the man who has been striding between the realms for a thousand years.”

“Perhaps we could contact Lion-Go? Have him let loose that ruffian in the halls of the Clock Tower, see if that might get his attention?” Carmilla advised, thinking of their mutual acquaintances. “He’s probably tired of her lazing about his home, being a terrible influence on his child.”

“Or you could just  _ ask  _ me,” came an unfamiliar male voice, causing both incarnated Servants to stiffen.

He was neither exceptionally tall nor exceptionally short; indeed, in stature and frame the man was fairly average. White hair swept back from a wrinkled brow, while an equally white beard framed a weathered yet strong jawline. 

The man’s vestments were simple, and all the more elegant for it: a black dress shirt trimmed in white with slacks and loafers to match. A jet black mantle tied the ensemble together, with the only spot of color being the golden thread connecting the two sides of the mantle.

All things considered, the aged man could have been someone’s grandfather, done up for a meeting of high society, but that comparison only held if one merely looked flesh deep. Leaving aside that he had appeared in the room without any prior indication of his entrance, there was a presence to this man, a  _ depth _ to him that made a line of ice run up the incarnated Servants’ spines. Legends whose names had been made immortal by the Throne they might have been, but the very  _ moment  _ they both laid eyes on the man, they knew he was not to be trifled with.

White-gloved fingers tapped idly on the head of a simple, unadorned wooden cane as Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg gazed at Berserker and Assassin with eyes like rubies. “I remember, once upon a time, those battle royales were all the rage. I must admit, however, that bloodsports have grown extremely tiresome these days.”

The Wizard Marshal gave a thin, tired smile, perhaps meant to be reassuring.

It wasn’t.

“Let us have a talk, then. About your presence here, about your former Masters’... _ unusual  _ circumstances, and about that fissure in the worldline that caused Cath Palug to rampage as Beast IV, however briefly.”

-x-x-x-

Kairi Shishigou sat in his home, sipping at his coffee, enjoying the quiet life that he had started to live after the end of the Grand Grail War.

His daughter was alive once more, he’d adopted an utter goon, and he knew that most of his charges from the Grail War were safe.

He was not prepared for the other two incarnated Servants and the Old Man of the Jewels to materialize in his living room with no warning whatsoever.

After a moment, he let out a sigh. “I’m  _ really _ getting too old for this shit.”

* * *

**AN: Stay tuned for this fic's sequel, "It's Always Horny On Main (In Kuoh), being uploaded soon to a fanfic site near you! And by soon, I mean it's being uploaded concurrently with this epilogue.**


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